will you even notice
Aster allowed her oasis-like demeanor to enfold him. It was as if someone had shown a small, warm flame to the dark corner of his forgetfulness and he began to remember slowly. A face, and then another. A flutter of wings. The endless sea of flowers. The consistent twinkling in the sky.
>“Okay,” she whispered, with a light smile to reflect the inner kindness. She’d start with a slower process, permitting the panic to dissipate, the grounding to begin in stutters and flutters. “Does anything hurt?”
At the thought of hurt or pain or injury, Aster looked upon himself. He was not in his hummingbird form, though his heart beat faster than the clopping of terrified hooves in a maelstrom. He distinctly remembered the feeling of being chased, but that also felt wrong to him. No one was chasing him. He was the one who chose to flee.
He glanced over his arms, his legs, his abdomen. Hurt. Hurt. Hurt. Everything ached, but he could not notice a rash, or gash or bruise anywhere. His body also yearned to rest, because he must have been flying for so long. If he still had his wings, he knew he'd have socket-fatigue. Maybe that was the clue to figuring out what was wrong. His thoughts remained cloudy in his human form.
"Not. Sure." Aster began to shrink, and he fell into the ritual of sitting crisscrossed with his arms folded at his sides. His face morphed into a beak, his back into his tailfeathers, and his arms stretched out as little iridescent wings.
As he shrunk, the female grew, and yet he felt more and more at ease.
{Who are you?} He asked, seeming to understand that she could listen to him the same way his family could when they were all clothed in feather and afloat.
>“Okay,” she whispered, with a light smile to reflect the inner kindness. She’d start with a slower process, permitting the panic to dissipate, the grounding to begin in stutters and flutters. “Does anything hurt?”
At the thought of hurt or pain or injury, Aster looked upon himself. He was not in his hummingbird form, though his heart beat faster than the clopping of terrified hooves in a maelstrom. He distinctly remembered the feeling of being chased, but that also felt wrong to him. No one was chasing him. He was the one who chose to flee.
He glanced over his arms, his legs, his abdomen. Hurt. Hurt. Hurt. Everything ached, but he could not notice a rash, or gash or bruise anywhere. His body also yearned to rest, because he must have been flying for so long. If he still had his wings, he knew he'd have socket-fatigue. Maybe that was the clue to figuring out what was wrong. His thoughts remained cloudy in his human form.
"Not. Sure." Aster began to shrink, and he fell into the ritual of sitting crisscrossed with his arms folded at his sides. His face morphed into a beak, his back into his tailfeathers, and his arms stretched out as little iridescent wings.
As he shrunk, the female grew, and yet he felt more and more at ease.
{Who are you?} He asked, seeming to understand that she could listen to him the same way his family could when they were all clothed in feather and afloat.
when I'm not around?
Aster
