He follows on wings of tawny gold, and Amalia finds herself enraptured by wonder, basking in the beauty of this moment they share. A year ago she would not have dreamt it, to be taking wing alongside her lover as the day fades down to night (and which part the least believable- that she should have wings? That someone should love her? That she no longer feara the dark?).
But now, now, now, ah, how her world has changed, sands shifting ever underfoot, never quite leaving her steady but always giving way to something new and beautiful in the dark.
On invisible currents of rising wind Amalia circles the avian Sword, open in her admiration, each piece of her mind accessible to him. He is magnificent the owl thinks, gold and black and musculature pulled over sinew and bone, larger than she twice again, a beacon in the brilliant night. Can he feel the vibrancy of her ardor, the excitement that radiates off her, electric?
Can he feel the mirth?
She stops her circling suddenly, a pulse of mischief in her thoughts as she angles her body up. On well-trained wings the girl flies, rising up toward the swiftly appearing stars, a silver bullet shot at the heavens. Higher, higher, until her breath gives out, until her small lungs struggle to hold it all and her brain begins to grow elated and still- and then down she plummets like a stone, crashing toward the larger eagle, a comet crashing down to earth.
Wings tucked in the girl spirals, her speed astounding and perhaps alarming as she careens toward Deimos, magnetized. It is not until she is feet away that the girl abruptly pulls up, her wings screaming with the strain of it as she makes use of her nimble figure and stops in her descent. Ah, but not before her talons touch him, aiming to brush some of the tawny feathers, gently but firmly enough to feel, an avian laughter in her throat.
Tag! Amalia calls to her lover before diving down among the trees, the cackling sound of an owl's shrieks left like ghosts in her wake.
But now, now, now, ah, how her world has changed, sands shifting ever underfoot, never quite leaving her steady but always giving way to something new and beautiful in the dark.
On invisible currents of rising wind Amalia circles the avian Sword, open in her admiration, each piece of her mind accessible to him. He is magnificent the owl thinks, gold and black and musculature pulled over sinew and bone, larger than she twice again, a beacon in the brilliant night. Can he feel the vibrancy of her ardor, the excitement that radiates off her, electric?
Can he feel the mirth?
She stops her circling suddenly, a pulse of mischief in her thoughts as she angles her body up. On well-trained wings the girl flies, rising up toward the swiftly appearing stars, a silver bullet shot at the heavens. Higher, higher, until her breath gives out, until her small lungs struggle to hold it all and her brain begins to grow elated and still- and then down she plummets like a stone, crashing toward the larger eagle, a comet crashing down to earth.
Wings tucked in the girl spirals, her speed astounding and perhaps alarming as she careens toward Deimos, magnetized. It is not until she is feet away that the girl abruptly pulls up, her wings screaming with the strain of it as she makes use of her nimble figure and stops in her descent. Ah, but not before her talons touch him, aiming to brush some of the tawny feathers, gently but firmly enough to feel, an avian laughter in her throat.
Tag! Amalia calls to her lover before diving down among the trees, the cackling sound of an owl's shrieks left like ghosts in her wake.
