"Master, is your brain damaged? Why are you awake so early?" Macaron asked, his tone as dry as the morning air.
My sentimental mood evaporated as quickly as mist in the sun. I flicked his forehead, earning a squawk. "I want to try sleeping on a tree. The breeze and the warm sunlight hitting my skin just felt right."
"Crazy. Why a tree, though?" he muttered, rubbing his head.
"So no one can disturb me," I replied simply.
With practiced ease, I climbed up the nearest tree, stretched out along a thick branch, and set my alarm to 9:30 A.M. Macaron puffed his feathers and insisted on keeping watch, but I waved him off. "Go hunt something instead. I'll be fine."
Reluctantly, he took off, vanishing into the bright sky.
