i'm not going to ask if it's anatomically possible or not
“Na, Allen,” said Ravi. “Look.”
Allen did, and immediately blinked. The transmission golem hovering in front of them was neither bat winged nor black. It favored a swallow blue and its wings were, in fact, more tastefully tapered, with a feathery flair at the ends of them. It made a distinct jangling noise.
“Oh,” said Allen. “It’s a custom. I wonder whose--”
It soon didn’t matter. The new golem made a lazy loop in the air. As though in answer, Tim Campi twitched awake, pricked its wings, and dove off of Allen’s shoulder. The two collided completely head on. The result was a blue and gold blur and terribly loud screech.
“Tim Campi, don’t--”
He paled.
“--…eat…”
Ravi whistled.
“Huh,” he said. “Wouldn’t’ve thought they could do that.”
“…and I wouldn’t have thought blue was even Tim Campi’s colour,” said Allen, rather helplessly. He put his head in his hands. At least someone thought privacy was an issue, here.
The General was explaining to the village head: “We only need to be quartered here two days or so. You will be compensated--”
From the crowd of onlookers, an aged woman with a bristle of grey hair separated herself. “Kale!” she shouted, in a thin voice like a bird call. She was staggering forward.
The head, a respectable middle aged man who was new at his job, immediately pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ah, don’t mind her. She does that every time guys come through. There’s no room at the inns right now, we could move a few folks into the town hall…”
“Don’t relocate anyone,” said the General. The woman was making a disoriented approach. His men were tensing. “At ease. Who is she?”
“Old Gruna. She’s harmless. A little touched…”
Such was apparent. “Kale. Kale. No, no. Not him not him. Not…” She paced down the line of the men in uniform, looking frustrated and near tears. Then, she lifted her head towards the General. Her eyes were pale and clouded with cataracts. They were also suddenly filled with brightness. She cried out and ran to him, spindly arms outstretched. “Kale!”
As she put her gnarled hands along either side of the man’s face, the village head groaned. “Gruna…” he started, as patiently as he could manage in the beginning stages of mortification, reaching for her shoulder.
The General gestured for stillness.
“Who’s Kale?” he asked, staring down at the woman. She was now standing on her toes, running calloused palms over his cheekbones.
“Her son,” admitted the head, awkwardly. “He. Uh. Nice kid. Shipped out a few years ago, see. Like I said, she does this when anyone comes through. Sorry for the trouble…”
“A mother. I see. It’s no matter.” The General reached up to place gloved hands over hers. The old woman’s sobs faded, cracked lips aquiver. He took her hands and lowered them, gently. He did not let them go.
“…where do you live now,” murmured Sephiroth. “I will take you home.”