Once, there was a bird.

It began as an egg just like four others, who each hatched, in turn, that spring, waking to the brush of gentle, warm breezes and blossoming flowers. Spring was beautiful, and the four hopped around the nest in glory as they tasted their first breath of life- and what a lovely life it was.

The final egg did not hatch that spring. Indeed, it did not hatch for quite a while, and spring passed with no sign of the living being. But it came. It came with the dawn of winter, and it woke to the brush of frigid, unwelcoming winds. It was then that its siblings learned of their wings, and began to fly from the nest, showing off how they could rise from the sticks and leaves that shriveled in the cold and reveal their presence to the world. And, right from the start, they uttered how they did not like the winter that had come.

But it was all that the last and final bird had ever known.

Yet, it had always looked up to the other hatchlings. Surely, because they had crawled from the shelter of their eggs and known the joy of spring, they were better than it. Stronger, faster, older... the final bird hardly compared. And so, at a very young age, it began to mimic its older siblings, learning how to fly far sooner than they had and reveal its presence to the world- and all in the cold. For it knew that there was no springtime for the little bird.

And the little bird grew. Of course, it could never truly catch up to those who had hatched months before it, but it became a very skilled flier from starting so early. It too, complained about the winter and begged for the return of spring- even though it had known nothing of the sort, the way its elder siblings ranted and raved made it seem so incredibly desirable.

Winter lasted forever. Every time spring seemed to be just around the corner, a new storm came barrelling through, sending the birds huddling together, desperate for warmth and shelter from the biting flurries and numbing winds. They had still not grown used to winter.

Only the little bird could brave the storms alone. Only the smallest, the weakest could cope in the flurries. One day, on a particularly frigid night, it received word that each of its siblings had frozen to death. For a while, it grieved, but it climbed back up from misery to continue fighting for spring. Spring was what each of its siblings had desired, and it was determined to experience it for itself- in their honor.

One day, the little bird- who was not such a little bird anymore- was approached by its worst enemy- rather, nemesis of its siblings, who it, in turn, hated as well. Winter told the bird that it had spring inside of it, but it was invisible to everyone else. And if the cold passed, the bird would turn cold, as well; spring would last an eternity, and it would be miserable.

Yet, the exchange was the natural order of seasons, and the bird could not forfeit the exchange without a price. In the moment, it had not thought things through- though it had known it would disappoint its siblings by not witnessing the dawn of spring, it refused to give up the happiness that remained inside of it. The bird realized, quite soon after, that it had destroyed the order of the seasons, and winter would reign for ages, but it decided it could not regret keeping spring. Even when it was caged, thrown where no light would ever reach, and its wings were cut off, causing unimaginable agony, it could not regret.

When it found itself freezing in winter's grasp just as its siblings had, it summoned the warmth of spring hidden in the depths of its heart, seeing the faces of the loved ones who had perished before it. It glanced to the stumps and saw its wings had returned, and it took flight one final time into the forgiving embraces of those it had betrayed.

Once, there was a bird.