Crest

Nestled high in the branches of a date palm tree, Crest lay sprawled across one of the large leaf stalks, with his tail curled around the stem for balance. His thin, cerulean wing membranes were arched above his head to shield his face from the sun.

Below, surrounded by dunes of sand and red rock, was a large oasis that a small caravan village was paused at. The area was filled with noise and commotion as people brought the horses and camels to the water's edge for a drink, and settled down on the sandy earth to start cooking fires and resupply.

Crest watched from his perch, swinging down to hang by his tail just long enough to rip a date free of the large cache of them hanging from the tree. Crawling back up atop the leaf, he settled in to eat the large fruit and continue to observe the hustle and bustle. He had lurked at this particular oasis for several months now, finding far more dates, as well as insects and scorpions, than he could possibly eat.

It was not uncommon to see travelers stop in, stir up a ruckus and scare off all the prey, but Crest didn't mind so much. It was interesting to observe from afar and eat dates. Occasionally, if he was feeling brave and mischievous, he would sneak down into a wagon or saddlebags to hunt for treats or trinkets. Occasionally he would find cherries or seeds to snack on, or a nice bit of silk or satin to line the nest he'd built in the crevasses of two large rocks, right on the pond edge. Despite the brilliant heat of the merciless rays during the day, the desert got frigid at night and it was nice to have something to bundle into.

As he watched the people begin to roast their meat and vegetables in the dying light of dusk, he cautiously crept further along the leaf, spread his wings, and took silently to the air. With wagons as large as these, there was bound to be a snack or two they wouldn't miss, and he was small and quiet enough that they were likely to never know he was even there.