who we are and all that we're trying to be
There was laughter pervading, surrounding him, as he found his avian bearings; swallowing down the bewilderment, the surprise, the own, somewhat buoyant round of amusement puffing through a bird’s chest. His eyes were narrowed, true predator slits and precision, the air hoisting him upwards, an ascent in the once-haunted shrouds; now it is freedom, liberation, and deliverance – he wanted to hasten across the world, he wanted to soar along stars, he wanted to grip with talons and rip apart with his beak. He shifted and the ether preened around his plumage, ruffled his feathers, his heart lighter, lighter than it might’ve ever been.
Because he’d done it. He’d been forced, he’d been dropped, he’d been languished, but he’d done it.
The Sword could hear her in the midnight oils, in the sable sky, you are truly now resurrected, the change within him, in his heart, in his lungs, in his soul.
Thank you, he prospered, without a voice for a moment, thank you, not solemn, not bowed, not broken. He didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know what else to do, except glide, except hover, except follow the wind, the earth.
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
