He had flown late into the night, letting the warm summer air sweep him where it would in drafts and whorls. Eventually, he climbed; higher and higher, watching the stars illuminate the dark sky as they appeared beyond scattered clouds. For a while, he had almost felt he might touch them – if only he could reach just a little further – but his lungs had squeezed in protest until he finally had to let himself fall through the twilight instead.
Leander had always liked the rush of feeling as he plummeted from the skies, wings tucked tight against his sides until the very last moment; a mimicry of the hawks and eagles his father had taught him to study as a child. His mother hadn’t been very fond of the trick when he was young, but he’d done it so often that Rayelle had learned to simply shake her head in wry exasperation whenever he alighted next to her with a flourish of wings and a lopsided grin.
He missed his parents on nights like these. By their mere existence, Leander had come to believe that his was not meant to be a lonely one – and thus it wasn’t often he let himself feel that way. For the most part, his contented nature allowed him to appreciate being on his own, and despite his nomadic past he’d always made friends rather easily wherever he went. Still, when he’d spread black-specked wings to halt his plunge and touch down near the river’s edge tonight, the old ache of their passing had come over him in fresh waves.
Sleepless, he had decided to rinse the sweat of his exertion in the mild currents. Riagan had also seen to it that his son could navigate all types of waters from an early age, which brought the story of how his parents first met to mind. He smiled to remember it. He could almost hear Rayelle’s silverbell laughter as his father recounted it. If he closed his eyes, he could almost see the way his father had always looked at her – like she was the sun he revolved around.
When Leander next opened them again, he saw with a start that someone stood in the river ahead. He slowed the idle rhythm of strong legs beneath dark waters and stood, too. Perhaps it was the lingering memory of his parents that made him pause, or maybe it was something about the shadows that haloed her face in moonlight. “You look cold,” he said then – she seemed stricken, somehow, and he wondered at how long she’d been standing still like that in the cool streams.
