I feel it running through my veins. I need that fire just to know that I'm awake.
She does not remember being born, although she reasons that it is not that unreasonable.
Not that strange to think that she would not remember such a thing.
But she also does not remember the moments after—the cleaning, the eating, the love that she is certain in the way of youthful confidence must have exists. She does not remember anything except for the tides that pulled underneath her skin. The oceans that washed against the shores of her heart and the way that she knew, somehow, that the world was spinning around her and she only need reach out and take it.
She does not remember sleeping or waking.
Does not remember the first time that she felt her very bones snap apart and come together.
The first thing she remembers, instead, is flying.
She had seen a bird flying around her head and she had breathed herself into existence. Her gangly legs and tiny nose twitched and she felt the way her body began to morph and shift. It grew smaller and then the hair began to change—becoming beautiful plumes instead. Her head elongated and then grow shorter, the end of it becoming hooked and hardened into a beak she had only seen once before.
It was as easy and natural as breathing the first time had been—
and as impossible to stop.
Alaska has no concept that perhaps her mother would not like to wake and find her daughter gone but her heart was not made for such worries. Instead, she takes to the skies—a tiny blur of red and gold and ivory as she chases a thing that no longer exists. Her wings flap valiantly against the churning air and she tires.
She feels her body begin to protest and she dives.
As she does, nearing the ground, she snaps back into the form she knows best.
And comes tumbling head over legs as the same shiny filly she had been minutes before.
— Alaska —
@[Wolfbane]