If am lost, I am lost on purpose.
She loves the night. It is so quiet that she can almost hear the sound of her own heartbeat, can almost hear the way that it thrums against her veins as she takes to the sky. The world speeds by beneath her, and she flaps her wings, long and feathered. They are golden tonight, dripping metallic, and she loves the way they look with the silvery light of the moon washing down, turning them nearly milky at the base.
Alaska tips her head back slightly, golden eyes looking at the starlight before she begins to spiral down, turning into a sparrow for a brief moment just to feel the thrill of the wind rushing by her, before she turns back into herself. She lands that way, keeping the wings as they are, overlarge and dragging on the ground beside her. It’s then that she notices him, as cool as she is warm, and the curiosity in her flares.
Taking a step forward, her tail catching on the grass and wildflowers, she moves toward him. She has no concept of being shy, no concept of being ashamed, and she makes no attempt to silence the sound of her steps. When she is close enough to nearly catch the scent of him, she stops, letting her breath fill the air.
“Hello,” she finally offers, her voice silvery and sweet, belying the adventurous spirit beneath it.
She turns her face gentle, a soft smile, ignoring the chimes of her heart.
“My name is Alaska.”
