Two Weeks, Day Two: Escape
Josh looked up at the eagle above him. So  big… he thought, blinking twice. She was, after all, much bigger than him, a sky-scraper to his suburban dwelling. She lightly rocked him back and forth in her feathery arms, cooing in words the lion couldn’t understand at him. He didn’t comprehend what she said, but the soothing tone calmed him all the more. He tried to reply, to speak back to her in return, but only soft, squeaky mews came out of the end of his muzzle. Windrifa smiled in that weird, side-faced smile that the avians made, and slipped a pacifier, very small and pink, into his muzzle with no resistance. She scratched him on the head and under the chin, then held his small, tan belly up to her beak and lightly nuzzled his tiny form. She said some more things which he didn’t understand, then set him down on something soft enough to make clouds feel like sandpaper. He felt like he was sinking into them, looking straight up into the distant eyes of the eagle above him. Mawmmy... Mawmmy…
“Mawmmy… Mawmmy…” Josh said pathetically, rolling over in his sleep, pacifier clutched firmly between his toothy jaws, suckling between attempts at speech. He started awaked suddenly, confused and disoriented. He filled his lungs with a single gasp through the mouth, the pacifier falling to the sheets beneath him. The lion started anew, throwing his head back and forth, not comprehending his surroundings. Breathing gone from calm to frantic in half a second, he thrashed, struggling against the heavy sheets he was under, throwing them off onto one side. A single, piercing shriek came from his maw. Not a roar, not even close, a high pitched squeal that lasted a few moments, then broke down into merely a series of sullen sobs mixed with whimpering and tears. Within moments he was balling, weeping, and he didn’t even know why. He first tried to use the snug, fabric mittens to clumsily rub away his tears, but they wouldn’t absorb, so he fell, clutching a pillow and sobbing away the world into it. 
So entranced was the lion in his helpless squalling, that he didn’t notice the other until the latch of the crib clapped, and the bars slid down. He didn’t pay much heed to the other, only rolling over into its direction, face still buried deeply into the tear, drool and mucus soaked pillowcase, and lightly mumble, “Mawmmy?” which he would later debate if the eagle had heard. She didn’t react to it, if she did hear, only lightly scratching the lion behind his ears, slowing his tears a bit from the attention, then trying to pry away the pillow from his face. He feebly tried to keep his grip on it, but the silken covers of his mittens kept his fingers neatly tucked away and useless, and his face, swollen, wet and rosy, squinted against the sudden intrusion of light into his eyes. His sobs stopped completely for a moment as he covered his face with his paws, as he did, however, Windrifa subtly undid a button on his onesie’s crotch, reached a finger in and down into his diaper. She reached one arm under his diapered butt, and another under his neck, then lifted him up and out of the crib with a squish. Josh mumbled gibberish between snivels, the last of his episode working its way out of his body, and was shortly deposited onto the cool, laminated top of the changing table. 
It took the lion’s adult mind a moment to catch up with events, and put them into logical order. 
Crying, diaper check, changing table.
It painted a picture, a very logically arrived at picture, but Josh refused to believe it, it was impossible, right? 
“N-Nnnaahhh w-wwwett…” He managed, his tongue fat and numb from the long night pacified, and not helped along in his eloquence by his recent, uncontrolled fit of tears and sobs. The eagle didn’t reply, only smiled slightly, and unbuttoned his onesie’s flap, flipping it open. What he saw supported the logical conclusion which he had arrived at not so long ago. His diaper, which, that past evening, had been dry as could be, but, somehow, during the night, it had been cocooned in a onesie, undergone metamorphosis and emerged from that garment sagging, stained yellow as a taxi, twice as a thick at the crotch, squishy, noisy, and, above all else, wet. He had wet the bed like a cub. 
For a moment Josh couldn’t believe his eyes, for the next, he refused the validity of what he saw, but, for one final moment, full of enlightenment the likes of which has not been felt since the Buddha reached Nirvana, Josh understood that, undeniably, he had wet the bed. But this was absurd, he had never wet the bed! Well there it was, waking up in a wet diaper is usually evidence of bed wetting. But it couldn’t! Oh, but it could. It could, and it was.
“Oh. My, my, my. Little tinker certainly went to town on this one,” she said with a giggle, lightly patting Josh’s diaper. It took a moment for this comment to sink in, but when it did, it showed on his cheeks almost immediately, “Oh, oh now, don’t be blushy. It’s perfectly natural, and besides, that’s why you’re still in diapers. Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?” Without waiting for his consent, or, for that matter, even acknowledgment of the comment, she set into the routine of diaper changing. Somehow his thumb snuck its way up to his face and into his mouth during her monologue. 
The eagle hummed slightly, untaping his diaper with loving care and pulling it out from under him, as soaked as cheap carpet after a party. Josh could only blush and suckle as she wiped down his holy of holies with a wipe, discarded it, and pulled a new diaper out from underneath the counter, unwrapped it, and fed it under him, his tail pushed through the appropriate whole. In a cloud of baby powder his once proud lionhood disappeared once again from view as the thick, padded garment, protective as a mother bird, was folded up around his waist and taped in place. It was thicker than his sleep diaper.
Instead of refastening the snaps to his onesie, giving him at least a scrap of cloth to hide his diaper behind, she took hold of it at the waist, said, “arms up, little one,” and pulled the garment over his head, discarding it into a corner and leaving him bare to the fur, except, of course, for his diaper. She then picked him up in the usual manner, snuggling him tightly against her soft, cotton robes, and settled herself in the feeding chair once again, a bottle of pre-warmed milk ready to hand. He hadn’t resisted, not at all. The lion had been utterly convinced of how completely within her control he was. She was stronger than him, though how she managed to be so strong was beyond him, and she had the home field advantage. She knew this place, and didn’t seem at all concerned that he might escape. She had said there were others, perhaps they where nearby, just waiting for him to try and make his getaway. It was possible, they had kidnapped him right off of a major street without so much as a peep, hadn’t they? 
Before he knew it, the nipple was in his mouth, Windrifa’s talon grasping the bottle firmly, applying pressure so as to keep him suckling. He flushed rosy again, begging the fates for a miracle, but, alas, none came, and the thick, warm, slightly sweet milk disappeared down his gullet. Every last drop. 
After that she simply looked down at him, grinning. Not talking, not moving, just grinning. Then she moved one hand up to his belly, and started tickling. 
“H-hey, cut it out!” He said, wriggling a little as her fingers lightly brushed over his fur, just softly enough that it made him squirm. She didn’t stop, predictably enough. Instead she only smiled brighter, and continued her tormenting of the lion, who, moments later, was a wiggling furry mass in her grasp. He could do nothing but twist around on her lap like a cub, eyes shut for tears and mouth wide and toothy for giggling. “Nahahahahahah pleahahahahahssss stawwwwwp!” He managed, half incomprehensible for the laughing fit. He did, however, open his eyes for a second, and that was all Windrifa needed. An audible CLICK came from a small, digital camera, and, before even the flash had faded, the eagle had stopped tickling and let the flush cheeked and full bellied lion see the picture she had taken. It wasn’t a masterpiece, not on the surface, anyway. It might have been anyone’s baby picture. It had a warm, diapered lion cub wiggling joyfully in its diaper, cheeks bright and rosy from smiling, mitten covered paws, all four of them, raised in the air to try and thwart the tickler. 
He was confused again. Could that really be him? He looked so small, so helpless, so… happy. Windrifa snickered a bit, withdrawing the camera, “See? Why can’t you just stay like that? You were so perfect.” She stood again, set him down on the chair, and walked over to a dresser on the other side of the room. “Ya coming?” she asked, turning back. 
Josh almost didn’t know what to think, you mean I can walk? By myself? He was almost ecstatic about the sudden freedom, and nearly toppled over on his first attempt to stand. He had tried to walk in his baby outfit once before, the previous day, with failure as the only consequence. Though, in fairness, at least the floor of the nursery didn’t try to suck you into it. The same could not be said of his crib. Still, he made a valiant effort to stand, and, with a smile of triumph, toddled the twenty crinkly steps to the eagle’s side despite the obstinate resistance of his tractionless booties and leg-spreading diaper, both of which kept him on his toes and waddling. 
When he caught up to Windrifa, she promptly stood, handed him a bundle of clothing, and smiled saying, “Can you dress yourself?” The lion nearly lost his head nodding, and smiling wide as a child offered candy, then thought over the situation. Gee, she’s letting me dress myself. At this rate I might have the freedoms of a five year old by the end of the week. But, despite the dashing of his enthusiasm, still eagerly climbed into the garments, even before he actually realized what he was putting on. Miraculously enough, it wasn’t something humiliating: a pair of white shorts with a blue streak going up the leg on either side. If they weren’t quite big enough for him, and if the fringe of his diaper was visible, well, what could he do? And the shirt, likewise, was of the same ilk. It too was white, and too short at the waist to conceal the plastic fringe of his diaper, but, again, much more age-appropriate than a onesie. 
   He pulled on the shirt without a second thought, looking after Windrifa when she had gone. She had left through the door and neglected to close it, a wonderful thing to do if she wanted him to escape. He blinked twice at the prospect, then shook it away just as fast. It wasn’t practical. What was he going to do? Walk out into the streets in a diaper and clothes fit for a toddler? He thought not. And so, decided only to follow the eagle for the moment, wherever she may lead. Where she led, notified as he was by the sound of humming from the room he recognised as the kitchen. He looked in, cautiously, his previous two meals there hadn’t exactly been auspicious. In fact, the first had probably been his most unpleasant hour in the eagle’s care, and that included the hour he had spent wallowing in a messy diaper. 
“Come in, Joshie. Don’t be shy. I have a surprise for you,” fitting with her demeanor up until that point, Windrifa spoke and gestured much as though she were speaking to a young child, with much cooing and explaination of small, obvious details. She hunched over and clapped twice, “Come on little guy, I have something very special for you.”
Very special did not exactly command his immediate obedience. The lion had seen what Windrifa’s idea of very special meant, and it was usually very unpleasant for him and abysmal for his pride. She took him by the arm, nevertheless, and, without resistance, firmly led him over to his high chair and strapped him into it. To her credit, she neglected to fasten the buckles that would restrain his wrists to the sides of the chair, giving him some small amount of grounds for free movement.
“And is my cubby hungry today?” She said, leaning in close and scratching him behind the ears.
“No, not unless you have the burger you promised,” he said, crossing his arms and pouting.
“No? Not even a little?” She replied, drawing the last word out as though it would get him to admit to having loved the disgusting muck, and would very much enjoy another breakfast of it. Hardly, the best of it had been little more than tolerable, much less palatable. 
“No, I don’t want any more gross baby food!” he said, and stuck up his nose at the eagle, the picture of a pouty four year old cub. 
Windrifa only smiled and poked him in the belly, said, “Alright then, I guess I’ll just have to eat all of these by myself,” and walked over to the kitchen’s island, drawing his attention to the heaven gifted, auspicious and all around miraculous presence of a high-stacked plate of buttered, premium maple syrup drenched plate of famously cooked pancakes, singed only slightly around the edges and with a happy face seared into the middle. It was exactly how he had taken pancakes as a child... how much did this eagle know about him? 
Not that Josh really cared how the eagle knew, nor did he really worry about how to find out. All that mattered  right now was him, the pancakes, and the firmly bolted high-chair that was keeping them apart. Naturally his first inkling was to break out of his chair and devour the plate to the porcelain, but he quickly disposed of that. The chair had already proven itself more than capable of restraining him, and, luckily enough, his natural instincts served him better than his conscious mind. In the time it had taken to think, Josh’s face had scrunched up, and his mouth was watering. He could have contended with a begging puppy in terms of cuteness. 
“You want this?” she said, smirking in triumph and parading his breakfast in front of his nose, just out of reach. He nodded, only half ashamed, “Well, then you can ask properly, instead of grabbing like a baby.”
It was only then that he realized that he was, in fact, leaning forward and trying to grab the plate, pointless, as it was out of his reach, but apparently reproachable. He amended his address immediately.
“M-may I please have some pancakes, Miss Windrifa?” he said in his best, I’m a young child who wants something precious, voice. Her smile widened.
“Pretty please?”
“Heh, okay. Pretty please?”
She leaned in close to him, giggling, “Pretty please with a cherry on top?” 
Her smile was infectious at close range, and he found himself grinning, too, ready again by half to brave any shame to get at the fragrant plate in front of him, “Pretty please with a cherry on to-“ he said, the last part of his sentence silenced as a fork baring a mouthful of spongy, syrup soaked pastry was shoved into his mouth, the sticky premium running down his lips at the side as he chewed, blushing and blissful in his favourite childhood meal. 
The fork was withdrawn and clattered onto the plate. Windrifa smiled, motherly, scratching him on the head, “Eat up.” He did eat up. He did, very much, eat up, and, within fifteen minutes, he had downed the entire plate of no less than ten pancakes, the breakfast of kings.
Josh reclined in his high chair, belly bulging out of his too-short shirt and pressing a bit against the table of his chair, making him look chubby to the extreme. This eagle isn’t doing much good for my abs... he thought, smiling a bit at the notion. There was one thing, however, he was sure of, and that was that, for the first time since he had left his childhood home, he had eaten well. The lion was a terrible cook by all accounts. He had managed to burn craft dinner, and this was a meal for the scrapbook. He put his mittened hands onto his belly, patting. Surely he couldn’t eat another bite. 
“Who wants ice creame?” the eagle said, levitating a well sauced sundae bowl full of ice cream before his noze.
Well, after all, I have been wrong before, he thought, and dug into the sundae with zeal. 
He looked a fright by the end of the meal, his shirt thoroughly sodden by ice cream and syrup, his face covered in liquid chocolate. The eagle had watched him eat with interest, clearly enjoying more watching him make a mess of himself than she would have feeding him bite by bite herself. When he finished he was ready as he could be for a nap despite his just having risen, and at a late hour to boot. He flushed pink as she approached, handkerchief in hand, and giggled innocently as she wiped clean his sticky face and took his shirt off for washing. She left him in the high chair a moment, then returned with another, clean shirt, this one a deep blue. She put it on him.
Moments later he was unstrapped from the chair, and picked up onto the eagle’s shoulder, toddler fashion. She carried him out into the hall and down toward a wing he hadn’t yet seen. There was a big door at the end of the hallway, different from the others. “Listen, lazy butt, you’ve been lounging around all day inside, time for some fresh air, eh?” she said, and the lion suddenly realized what was outside the door: outdoors. She was going to carry him around, diaper visible, dressed like a child, in public. Josh’s heart sunk so far it might have been in China, his eyes went so wide, the slightest light may have blinded him. He started to thrash almost instantly, squirming back and forth at sporadic intervals, but the eagle’s well trained grasp held true, and he looked very much the fish on the hook, being lowered toward the grill. 
There was a bright flash of sunlight as the door was opened, a bight sunny day, and Josh tried to turn his head to look and see how crowded a place they were in, but only glimpsed a copse of trees. The effort quickly became unessesary, as Windrifa flipped him down onto his own, wobbly two feet, turned him around, and left him a moment to look out over the prospects. It might have been a door-frame sized post card. 
Josh had once seen a picture of the outlook from a French villa on a summer day, thick, natural grass, a short hillock leading down to a brilliant blue lake, unbroken woodland on all sides, as far as the eye could see. Wait, woodland? He thought, taking a sudden backstep into the house, bumping into Windrifa’s thick robed body. Where the hell did she take me? 
Josh lived in a very longstanding urban zone, one couldn’t find more than ten trees in a place within two hundred miles of his apartment. Josh had rarely seen actual forest, just urban parks and the like. The visage both confused and frightened him very much, and he almost wished that she was taking him out into a town after all. He turned around to face Windrifa, face aquiver. 
“It... it’s...” he managed, lip bobbing, almost at tears, “b- b...” without apparent reason, he was suddenly overcome by the surprise and pleasure of the country, and, when the tears came, he barely got out, “Beautiful...” before falling to his knees, cradled in the eagle’s big, fluffy wings, and sobbing his eyes out, right thumb clenched firmly in his muzzle and sucking. 
Windrifa embraced the blubbering lion cub, crying himself to sleep. She warmly rubbed the back of his head, pressed firmly against her feathery breast, and spoke, happy as ever she had been, “Welcome home, little one. Welcome home.