this pair of wings worn and rusted from too many years by my side
As her eyes (and nose) adjust to the room it becomes painfully evident that Loren's state is not a simple flu. Breathing deeply of the outside air the woman steels herself, wishing desperately she could still shift into an owl and dull her sense of smell.
She leaves the door open for light and fresh air and steps in toward the shape by the fire. Behind her Jyoti croons and sings, greeting Astra and casting starlight into the dingy room. "Hi, Loren," the girl says quietly, kneeling down on the other side of the hearth. "We can make baskets, if you want. Or we could have a picnic. Does that sound nice?"
She leaves the door open for light and fresh air and steps in toward the shape by the fire. Behind her Jyoti croons and sings, greeting Astra and casting starlight into the dingy room. "Hi, Loren," the girl says quietly, kneeling down on the other side of the hearth. "We can make baskets, if you want. Or we could have a picnic. Does that sound nice?"
