Microfiction - Bathtime

 Get down off of there and have my bath, I’m told.

Mother flicks her wings at me, spraying puddled rainwater. The horse skull rocks slightly as I flap into a short glide and splash down across from her. I whine for her reasoning. It’s only old bone tossed up on the flat roofed garage backing onto the field.

Chirp sharp, she tells me that’s Sable’s mother I’m stamping all over. Winter was too hard for her. I should have some respect.

The twitch of her beak puts me in my place. I dunk my head under then lift up quick and shiver droplets down my back. It’s a fair point. I wouldn’t want Sable’s hooves on my mother’s head.