[se] waiting for the smoke

HENRY

a knife twists at the thought that
I should fall short of the mark

Deimos was not alone in the winds, actually. Henry is there, as well. He rises above the valley on dark plumage, but he thinks he's alone too. Alone to his own, left to think of all that rests on his shoulders - or wings, now. Somehow, the days have gotten easier to live through lately. The arrival of Longheat brings with it the buzz of people celebrating fairer weather and brighter sun. He can't help but to feel a bit lighter with it.

So it's not with a heavy heart that Henry flies, but with something akin to peace. And peace is so relaxing, that for a while he closes his eyes as he lets the wind carry him onward and upward, only occasionally beating his wings to keep himself afloat.

It's when something both familiar and unknown catches on the fringes of his senses that he widens his piercing eyes open to see that he's heading straight towards another bird. Woah! he diverts his path with a sudden, clumsy sweep of his wings. There he slows, out of the way but still nearing this other passenger of the sky.

Sorry, I should've been paying better attention, he rumbles sheepishly, attempting to speak through that Attuned bond, hoping he's not wrong and that this is actually a person... not a normal bird he's talking to. Who are you?

middle of adventure
such a perfect place to start