If the slight fever of warmth that rises when we hold hands lights a light
Look, It will shine until it reaches even the corners of the dimmed world, so brightly.

As she made her way up the gentle slope and came to a halt, she felt a shiver ripple across the skin. With a tired huff that turned breath into a glittering cloud she furrowed the wings a bit more, huddling into the warmth of gilded down as she gazed out across the vast landscape beneath. It was cold, as always in these northern lands. Snow lay thick and white as far as the eye could see, covering ground and trees alike. It was beautiful, she supposed, what with its crystalline shimmer as early dawn colored the sky in hues of pink and umbra and gentle rays with no warmth announced the rising of the sun - but really, she would have preferred to see mile upon mile of sweltering desert. What wouldn't she give for a burning sun, baking heat that scorched the skin and parched the throat for every breath, air so still that it rippled and created illusions of whatever a soul desired most...

Alas, in this barbaric north no such thing could be found. Indeed, after experiencing the violence of that recent snowstorm Riel doubted that she would be able to find as much as an inch of land that wasn't covered in this pretty but oh so detestable snow. Frozen water? Pah! She couldn't remember what had ever seemed so wonderful about it. The skill of the wrinkly old storytellers, no doubt; they could bewitch the mind of any horse, foal and hardened warrior alike.

Or well... maybe the company of some familiar faces would help brighten her spirits. But as the girl gazed out across the frozen wasteland and saw no sign of horses, winged or otherwise she had to sigh; a pitiful sound indeed, and all the more saddening as it came from one so pretty. It wasn't easy appreciating the adventure of being lost in unknown land when you wasn't sure whether your family was alive or perished, scattered to the seven winds or buried in some accursed pile of snow many miles from here...

Still. It wouldn't do to give up - she had no choice but to move on. May it be that she had lost all bearing in the storm, that she couldn't remember where exactly she had seen her mother last or that a big lump in the head had left a trail of blood down the cheek. May it be that her left wing was rendered completely useless, painful and bruised from a violent fall - she must persevere, if she wanted to survive.

And so the sparrow descended from the hill and headed in beneath the snow-clad canopy of the forest, stout heart beating steadily (somewhat) and the finely chiseled head held high. Maybe if she looked brave she would eventually become it as well...

"Motheeeeer!" she called as she went, hoping beyond hope that an answer might come echoing back eventually, if she just kept at it long enough. "Faaaather? Hiina, Marva, Kehar? Anyoooone!?"

It was strange, wasn't it, how saying their names made her chest ache in sorrow rather than hope - as though by calling on them she sealed some horrible fate that would prevent her from seeing them again.

Sadness sinks, and look, the night comes to an end.
Let's go searching for you
And your warmth, in a world yet unseen.