but now it is a competition of whichever is heavier:
my will, or the pull of gravity into the grave
my will, or the pull of gravity into the grave
He is far more masterful at the bond than she, and she knew this all would reveal more than she was comfortable with before she’d ever turned herself over to feathers and wings. She had taken the leap regardless - because she needed to see her children, but also because there was nothing so honest and emotions. Hotaru could talk until she was blue in the face, but there was too little trust between them now for that to be of any use. It put her at a distinct disadvantage yes, something she would normally reject entirely, but it was like a self-administered punishment. To go through something like this so that Sunjata could peer into her soul without any of her barriers to stop him. And knowing she could not do the same in return.
At least the trepidation of the flying itself keeps her mind away from other avenues that would reveal more than she had prepared herself for. Grimacing at his instructions, she doesn’t hide the grudging acceptance from him as she tries to feel for the air currents instead of forcing it to bow to her whims. It’s another lesson in letting go - something Ru has never excelled at. Minutes pass in silence. It becomes easier. The burn in her wing joints ease as she lets the wind take her weight; trusting it to hold her, and trusting in her own wings to intercede when the wind eases. The ground drops away beneath them, sprawling hills covered in snow that erases any landmarks and characteristics beneath.
It’s easier, she confirms eventually, when she feels she has gotten the hang of it. There’s no pout to her tone - Sunjata is the expert here, and Hotaru hadn’t doubted he’d know more. She dips one wing to try out a tighter turn, and nearly fumbles it, catching herself in a graceless flurry of wingbeats and the echo of curses across the bond. Fuck, okay. Turning lessons? Something more than an easy glide.
At least the trepidation of the flying itself keeps her mind away from other avenues that would reveal more than she had prepared herself for. Grimacing at his instructions, she doesn’t hide the grudging acceptance from him as she tries to feel for the air currents instead of forcing it to bow to her whims. It’s another lesson in letting go - something Ru has never excelled at. Minutes pass in silence. It becomes easier. The burn in her wing joints ease as she lets the wind take her weight; trusting it to hold her, and trusting in her own wings to intercede when the wind eases. The ground drops away beneath them, sprawling hills covered in snow that erases any landmarks and characteristics beneath.
It’s easier, she confirms eventually, when she feels she has gotten the hang of it. There’s no pout to her tone - Sunjata is the expert here, and Hotaru hadn’t doubted he’d know more. She dips one wing to try out a tighter turn, and nearly fumbles it, catching herself in a graceless flurry of wingbeats and the echo of curses across the bond. Fuck, okay. Turning lessons? Something more than an easy glide.
