Chapter Text
After a few months Fakir was finally starting to get a hold of his powers, the first thing he wrote about was inconsequential, a story about a honeysuckle plant that resulted in the plat growing slightly bigger and quicker than it would naturally. After the test run, he had decided to start small, writing stories where small acts of good happened. Such as a beggar finding a suspiciously high number of coins on the street. Each time he wrote he would up the stakes, never anything that would cause a serious injury or death of course, or that would cause too big an effect on the Goldkrowne Towne.
Small slice of life stories was his favorite to write he has discovered, they were low stakes, but still positively affected the people around him. He also found it a nice change of pace from when his life was controlled by stories. He tried to write every single day. No matter how small the story was.
Right now, in late fall, Fakir was writing his latest story when his quill broke. He had already been writing for hours before it broke, so he took it as a sign he had written enough today. He decides to use his newly found free time go visit Duck at her pond. He had offered repeatedly for her to move into the smithy with him and Charon, but she always refused. He could understand why, a smithy was no place for a duck. A pond is a much better place for her; ducks need water to thrive.
As Fakir approaches her pond, he notices white feathers are strewn about. His mind immediately assumes the worse, she’s been attacked by a predator or been shot by a hunter. The thought alone is enough to make him cry. He starts to call out to her hoping she will give any signal she is alive, “DUCK!!!” He screams so loud the birds in the trees take flight in fear.
To his relief when he gets to the pond’s edge, she waddles up to him. She’s quacking happily and bobbing her head. Although something is missing. Her wing feathers, some of them have been replaced by pin feathers. ‘Oh right’, he thinks, ‘late fall, molting season for ducks. I forgot,’ he bends down to her small form, “I was so scared something had happened to you, idiot. When I saw the feathers...” he can’t even finish his sentence.
‘Oh Fakir. Thank you for worrying about me,’ she thinks as she nuzzles into his legs.
“Nice to see you too.”
When he doesn’t say more, she lets out a hearty, “Quack!” And taps her bill to him twice.
“You want to know how I’ve been, huh? Well not much has changed since I visited you for breakfast this morning. Although, my quill did break, I’ll have to pick up another when I go back into town.”
“Quack!” ‘That must suck Fakir, I’m sorry to hear that. I wish I could help, but I’m just a duck. Wait a second, I’m a duck!’ She lifts out a wing and reaches her long neck and head over to a flight feather that is about to be molted and uses her bill to gently plucks it out. It does not hurt; she’d have to preen herself eventually anyways. Might as well do it now when it would help Fakir.
Panic falls over Fakir when he watches her rip out a feather, “Idiot! Why would you do that?!” She takes the feather, still in her bill, and presents it at his feet.
She looks up at him, “Quack!” ‘It's a gift for you, since you broke your last one.’ With her bill she nudges it a little closer to him.
His face softens, “You didn’t have to do that. I would have been able to buy one in town just fine.”
“Quack!” ‘But I did this cause I wanted to. Besides if you turn one of my feathers into a quill it will be like we are writing together.’ To emphasis her point she picks up the feather again and places it on his shoe. This time he finally picks it up. He doesn’t want to waste such a generous gift. Yes, he will turn this feather into a quill and use it to write all his stories from now on. Eventually, with enough practice, he was able to use the very quill made form one of her feathers, to turn Duck human again.