Icarus, The Inventor

I stare out at the expanse of grass and flex my toes, the blades tickling between each digit. In the distance I see the little house, with its little chimney blowing out smoke. In front of me is a gate. It’s not a special gate. It has no runes; no spark runs through it. The gate is a few feet wide, metal and cold between two wooden posts which have become part of the hedge that borders the field the gate protects.
I think for a moment. I do a lot of that, thinking. I spend most of my days thinking and writing those thoughts. Sometimes I act on those thoughts. Today is one of those days. One of those days where I act on the thoughts I’ve been thinking about for so long.
I take out my book and flip through the pages, past a bunch of symbols and diagrams until finally I find the right page.
There are a few things on this page. The first drawing is of a house, I was never good at drawing houses so it’s simply a square with a triangle sat on top of it. This is the farmhouse. I chew my pen for a moment before placing it down on the page and draw a small rectangle on the diagonal of the triangle. There, that’s better, but it’s still not quite right. I draw a squiggle coming out of it. Perfect. Under the house there is another larger rectangle, this is the field. There’s an “X” at the bottom of the rectangle, the X is me, or represents where I am now. Across the page is a series of symbols. I curse myself. These notes aren’t helpful at all. Though I suppose this is why I’m an inventor not an investigator.
I look at the sky and see the blues, purples and oranges of sunset. It shouldn’t take long to cross the field, but I know I must go now.
I take a step and the dewiness of the ground makes my feet cold. I shiver before squatting low to the ground, creeping forward I carefully place one foot in front of the other. I repeat this until I am at the other side of the field and stop just short of the top gate.
It’s metal and cold and narrower than the bottom gate. I inspect it for runes, attempting to conceal myself from view behind the post and hedge. There are none. That’s good news for me but I worry about the safety of the farmer. How do they protect themselves? I take out my pen and book again and write on a new page. An idea for later. I nod to myself and focus on the task before me.
I crouch down again and lean towards an opening in the gate. The house is much bigger now I’m closer and the chimney is still going. I look around searching for more buildings, but my eyes have not adjusted to the encroaching darkness and I can’t see anything from where I am. I must go inside.
I slowly make my way over to the gate, ensuring I don’t draw any attention to myself. I’m so close now and I almost have everything I need. I can almost taste it. I step up onto the bottom strip of metal that makes the gate and go to hoist myself over. As I do, the gate jolts forwards and I fall, hitting the ground almost face first. I put out my arms to protect myself just in time. The mud is wet and cold, but it is soft. It cakes my forearms and a little has splattered onto my face which is better than falling on my face.
This wouldn’t be a problem if I could fly. I’d just flap my...arms and fly over the field and the hedge. But that is why I am here, so I can get the last thing I need to fly.
As I’m thinking these thoughts, I get back up onto all fours and then stand up. The feeling is unpleasant as the mud seeps between each of my digits and overflows on top of them, burying them in the muck. I make an audible noise of disgust before slapping a hand over my mouth. Shhhh.
A door opens now at the not-so-little house and light comes beaming through the gap the door has left behind. I panic and hand still over mouth run in the opposite direction. Hide, hide, hiding. I crouch down beside a collection of old wood, grass trimmings and discarded items I can’t identify in the dark. I peak over the top and the figure, the farmer, is walking over to the gate I came through.
I pray to Tyche and hope she is not in good terms with Demeter as I get up and run over to a smaller house that’s made of wood and wire. I finally stop on the furthest side from the other house. I sit there for a while, trying not to move so I’m not heard or seen.
Finally, the light from the door goes away and the door clicks softly in the distance. I feel my heart pounding in my chest and put my hand over it, trying to calm down. Normally I’d write in my book and that would calm me down and help me focus, but it’s completely night now and the pen I had seems to have fallen out my pocket.
I creep forward and go towards the little bit of torch light I can see coming out of the wooden building. Using this light, I look downwards, searching for the pen when I hear soft clucking coming from inside the building. I freeze. This is what I came here for! I slowly get up and look through the small, very convenient round window. A wide smile starts to take up most of my face. This is what it was all for.
Chickens.

Year 1 (2018/19) | Creative Writing Class | 1140 words Prompt: Use a mythical being and write them doing a mundane task, but as a quest. For example, your character goes to the shops to get milk and something happens along the way.
I feel like a lot of first year was me trying to work out how to write in general whilst trying to have fun so I stuck to a lot of first person/present tense stuff, but also a surprising of the tasks were basically write fanfiction about myths.
So, here is my character loosely inspired by the Icarus myth.