03-08-2021, 01:13 PM
She had been sitting among the branches of her brother's antlers, her little clawed feet wrapped around the highest prong so that she could lift her delicate face to where she knew the sun must sit so radiantly in the sky. Summer was her favorite, and with fall edging in and the air growing more crisp, she was eager to spend every second of every day basking in the bright.
Of course, she could not see the sun so bright in the sky, could not see a sky so blue that it better belonged to the gems buried in the darkest stone of the deepest caves. She couldn’t see the green or the grass or the shape of the trees, didn’t understand the delicate beauty of flowers when the wind taught them to dance. But she loved them in other ways, like this, with her sightless face lifted to a summer sky, the whispering of tall grass murmuring silly nothings in her ears. But the flowers were her favorite, small and sweet like her, and she could smell the ones that grew in Sorren’s mane beneath her, a smell that was blue to her because that’s how he described them.
But she had not expected the wind to pick up so suddenly, and as her delicate wings unfurled to feel what had been a gentle breeze moments before, she was suddenly ripped away and hurled into the sky much to the dismay of her brother. She could hear his frantic shouts below, but then they were too far too hear as she fell through a nothingness and remembered, quite belatedly, to try and flap her wings.
There is nothing easy about flying without direction, and it is almost immediately that her wings are battered and sore and she is too exhausted to do anything but chirp softly and pull them close to her feathered body. She isn’t scared until the moment the wind fades and her body starts to plummet, and then she flings her wings open again, frantic and fighting and caught totally off guard by the voice that finds her.
She is soothed instantly, relaxing into whatever it is that holds her now, though strangely it still feels like wind until it is decidedly not and she can smell the distinct scent of summer and horse hair. She burrows into the warmth of him, chirping softly and settling just as he bids her, letting sleep overcome her exhausted body while he grazes.
When she wakes she is warm again, like petals left sleeping too long in the sun, and she stretches happily before rising to balance along the curve of his spine. She has only ever known kindness, so there is no doubt that this boy is kind too. But she thinks on his words from before sleep had taken her, and once her balance is restored she walks her way up the tangles of the crest of his mane, nesting in space between his ears to say, “Thank you, I feel much better now.” Because she has no reason to think a talking sparrow might startle him. And then, in that same soft-chirp voice, “Where do sparrows go before winter comes?”
Of course, she could not see the sun so bright in the sky, could not see a sky so blue that it better belonged to the gems buried in the darkest stone of the deepest caves. She couldn’t see the green or the grass or the shape of the trees, didn’t understand the delicate beauty of flowers when the wind taught them to dance. But she loved them in other ways, like this, with her sightless face lifted to a summer sky, the whispering of tall grass murmuring silly nothings in her ears. But the flowers were her favorite, small and sweet like her, and she could smell the ones that grew in Sorren’s mane beneath her, a smell that was blue to her because that’s how he described them.
But she had not expected the wind to pick up so suddenly, and as her delicate wings unfurled to feel what had been a gentle breeze moments before, she was suddenly ripped away and hurled into the sky much to the dismay of her brother. She could hear his frantic shouts below, but then they were too far too hear as she fell through a nothingness and remembered, quite belatedly, to try and flap her wings.
There is nothing easy about flying without direction, and it is almost immediately that her wings are battered and sore and she is too exhausted to do anything but chirp softly and pull them close to her feathered body. She isn’t scared until the moment the wind fades and her body starts to plummet, and then she flings her wings open again, frantic and fighting and caught totally off guard by the voice that finds her.
She is soothed instantly, relaxing into whatever it is that holds her now, though strangely it still feels like wind until it is decidedly not and she can smell the distinct scent of summer and horse hair. She burrows into the warmth of him, chirping softly and settling just as he bids her, letting sleep overcome her exhausted body while he grazes.
When she wakes she is warm again, like petals left sleeping too long in the sun, and she stretches happily before rising to balance along the curve of his spine. She has only ever known kindness, so there is no doubt that this boy is kind too. But she thinks on his words from before sleep had taken her, and once her balance is restored she walks her way up the tangles of the crest of his mane, nesting in space between his ears to say, “Thank you, I feel much better now.” Because she has no reason to think a talking sparrow might startle him. And then, in that same soft-chirp voice, “Where do sparrows go before winter comes?”
splendora
how can i put it down into words,
when it's almost too much for my soul alone
@[Clegane]