09-17-2016, 10:13 AM
I guess it was inevitable that I’d wander away from the forest eventually. Even the woodland doesn’t really get to be my home, not exactly. It’s just a place that I’m growing more familiar with as time passes and I explore it more thoroughly. But as kind as the forest has been to me, I’ve come to find myself a bit...discontent with it. Or with spending all my time there. Maybe it’s part of my curse, to not feel at home even where I’m allowed to be. Or maybe it’s just spring settling into my bones and making me restless. Making me want to move, to explore, to see something other than endless woodland everywhere I turn.
Somehow stepping out of the forest feels like...like walking out of a too-small cave where the walls are too close and the ceiling’s too close and I can’t spread out my wings at all, they have to stay tight to my body so they don’t rub up against the rock. Breathing feels a little easier, and I stretch out my wings and let the sun sink into them, the black of my coat and my feathers absorbing the early spring sunlight and the warmth that goes along with it.
Even months after Beqanna took my fire away, I’m still so cold without it. Always so cold. I’ve started to get used to the constant chill, the uncomfortable numbness, the way it’s settled in everywhere, even in my chest now. Even my heart feels a little numb, and that would be worrisome if it didn’t take so much effort to worry at all. Maybe without my fire, I’m just like my mother, cold inside and uncaring. The idea is unsettling, and I rustle my wings and fan them out a little more, spreading them as big as I can to soak up more of the sun’s heat. Doing the little I can to combat the cold.
I never want to be like her.
I’m not the only person here in the meadow trying to absorb the sunlight and let it sink into my skin to try to fight the cold. As I step out of the shade cast by the trees, I spot a woman grazing in a pool of light, her coat shining in the sun where mine is shaggy with thick winter fur and dull from a bit too much hunger gnawing at my belly over the coldest season when food was too scarce for comfort. Though really, I left comfort behind a while ago now.
Taking advantage of the vibrant green growth of early spring sounds like an excellent idea, really. So I slip a little closer and lower my head to graze too, eating a few mouthfuls and chewing slowly before I bother to say anything. When I’m a little less hungry, I finally speak a quiet little greeting. “Hello.” Well. I did say it was a little greeting, didn’t I? Funny, I usually ramble on and on. Maybe the cold took over my throat too, because words feel like more work than they should. So I just take another mouthful to excuse the silence. And because maybe the food will help warm me up inside at least a little bit.
Somehow stepping out of the forest feels like...like walking out of a too-small cave where the walls are too close and the ceiling’s too close and I can’t spread out my wings at all, they have to stay tight to my body so they don’t rub up against the rock. Breathing feels a little easier, and I stretch out my wings and let the sun sink into them, the black of my coat and my feathers absorbing the early spring sunlight and the warmth that goes along with it.
Even months after Beqanna took my fire away, I’m still so cold without it. Always so cold. I’ve started to get used to the constant chill, the uncomfortable numbness, the way it’s settled in everywhere, even in my chest now. Even my heart feels a little numb, and that would be worrisome if it didn’t take so much effort to worry at all. Maybe without my fire, I’m just like my mother, cold inside and uncaring. The idea is unsettling, and I rustle my wings and fan them out a little more, spreading them as big as I can to soak up more of the sun’s heat. Doing the little I can to combat the cold.
I never want to be like her.
I’m not the only person here in the meadow trying to absorb the sunlight and let it sink into my skin to try to fight the cold. As I step out of the shade cast by the trees, I spot a woman grazing in a pool of light, her coat shining in the sun where mine is shaggy with thick winter fur and dull from a bit too much hunger gnawing at my belly over the coldest season when food was too scarce for comfort. Though really, I left comfort behind a while ago now.
Taking advantage of the vibrant green growth of early spring sounds like an excellent idea, really. So I slip a little closer and lower my head to graze too, eating a few mouthfuls and chewing slowly before I bother to say anything. When I’m a little less hungry, I finally speak a quiet little greeting. “Hello.” Well. I did say it was a little greeting, didn’t I? Funny, I usually ramble on and on. Maybe the cold took over my throat too, because words feel like more work than they should. So I just take another mouthful to excuse the silence. And because maybe the food will help warm me up inside at least a little bit.