On Broken Wings

She's imperfect, but she tries She is good, but she lies She is hard on herself She is broken and won't ask for help If You shouldn't be here sets the hair of her neck on end, Someone will worry makes her nearly laugh, the outburst held back by the severity of his sadness, the deep well of his pain. Her fingers trace once more through his fur, a gentle wave of comfort coursing through their mental bond. "Let them worry," she replies lightly, shrugging her narrow shoulders. "I'm a big girl. I can spend my time where I want. And I want to spend it with you." Shifting on the ground, she moves so she is sitting beside him, her legs pulled up and crossed beneath her, her back to the log he is hiding behind. The slender hand stays on his back unless he pulls away, the other one curling between Isuma's wings. It is half to comfort, half to seek, checking both for injuries, for outward wounds. The mystery of what has caused this torment still racks rife within her brain, makes her anxiety for her friend vibrate beneath her skin, held back only by the certainty that he needs her to be strong right now. She lets the moment stretch and ease, offering silent comfort, biting lip and tongue. Seconds to minutes, and then at last a low murmur leaves her throat, alto hum measured, trying not to shake or pry or push while still hoping for an answer, something clear. "Will you tell me what happened?" a m a l i a She is messy, but she's kind She is lonely most of the time She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie She is gone, but she used to be mine