It was during the same summer storm that Red sought shelter inside Arthur’s living room for the very first time. As thunder rumbled over the mountains, the bird didn't fly to the safety of the thick jungle trees; instead, he hopped through the open balcony door and climbed straight onto Arthur's lap, burying his head under Arthur's arm for comfort.
"I've got you, fellah," Arthur whispered, stroking the long, brilliant tail feathers as the rain beat a steady rhythm against the tin roof. "You're safe right here." Sitting in the dim light of the living room, Arthur felt a deep sense of purpose he hadn't experienced in years. The house no longer felt empty or haunted by silence; it felt filled with life and trust.
As the storm cleared, leaving the air smelling of damp earth and crushed flowers, Red stretched his legs out wide, shifting his body to groom his damp under-feathers. That was the moment Arthur leaned down to help uncurl a damp plume near the bird's left leg, catching the sudden, unmistakable gleam of polished metal tucked against the scaly skin!