Ashe
to get a dream
of life again
of life again
The cold bites at me even here, in the sunlight. It seeps through my feathers, through skin and bone, until it’s a dull ache beneath the rhythm of my wings. I’ve always hated the cold—always—and the taste of it brings with it too many memories I’d rather bury. Halo has never been a place I sought out, but Theea had gone there, and habit is hard to kill. I keep to the edges, to shadows and heights, always near enough to trouble to keep her out of it.
A skyship took me most of the way. My wings carry me the rest. I needed to fly—not for speed, not to reach anywhere, but for the simplicity of it. It’s still strange, being among people again, feeling the press of their eyes, their voices, their lives. I don’t regret it. I don’t want to be alone again. But I need to breathe.
And what better way than over the ocean?
Below, Eurybia rolls in great, dark swells, her steel-blue skin flecked white where wind and wave collide. The cold paints the horizon in shades of slate and silver, the air rich with salt sharp enough to sting. Sunlight glances through shifting cloudbanks, turning the peaks of waves into molten gold before they sink again into shadow. The wind is alive out here, running wild between sky and sea, and I let it have me—my tiny wings a humming blur as I dart along invisible currents, flying with it instead of against it. For once, I’m not going anywhere. I’m simply… here.
Then I see him right as I flit further downward to avoid a cross breeze.
A white plume cutting clean through the gales, the shape unmistakable even from this distance. A griffin—huge, powerful, all bright feather and muscle—driving straight toward me. Whoops. I veer up again just as he surges past me, avoiding what must be a powerful downdraft.
I steady myself, a faint, old and familiar thrill in my chest that has nothing to do with the cold, and—because curiosity has always been my ruin—I turn after him. My wings buzz harder, faster, pulling me along his trail through the wind.
Either you didn’t see me, I send into the air between us, testing, my mental voice dry with amused accusation, or you were willing to eat me—because I nearly flew into your face.
A skyship took me most of the way. My wings carry me the rest. I needed to fly—not for speed, not to reach anywhere, but for the simplicity of it. It’s still strange, being among people again, feeling the press of their eyes, their voices, their lives. I don’t regret it. I don’t want to be alone again. But I need to breathe.
And what better way than over the ocean?
Below, Eurybia rolls in great, dark swells, her steel-blue skin flecked white where wind and wave collide. The cold paints the horizon in shades of slate and silver, the air rich with salt sharp enough to sting. Sunlight glances through shifting cloudbanks, turning the peaks of waves into molten gold before they sink again into shadow. The wind is alive out here, running wild between sky and sea, and I let it have me—my tiny wings a humming blur as I dart along invisible currents, flying with it instead of against it. For once, I’m not going anywhere. I’m simply… here.
Then I see him right as I flit further downward to avoid a cross breeze.
A white plume cutting clean through the gales, the shape unmistakable even from this distance. A griffin—huge, powerful, all bright feather and muscle—driving straight toward me. Whoops. I veer up again just as he surges past me, avoiding what must be a powerful downdraft.
I steady myself, a faint, old and familiar thrill in my chest that has nothing to do with the cold, and—because curiosity has always been my ruin—I turn after him. My wings buzz harder, faster, pulling me along his trail through the wind.
Either you didn’t see me, I send into the air between us, testing, my mental voice dry with amused accusation, or you were willing to eat me—because I nearly flew into your face.
to get a vision
of the start at the end
of the start at the end
