The freeze lifts, the Sun penetrates the cloud of chilling, frosty air, the snow dissipates, both from our surrounds and my hide. My crown is held below my withers, my strides slow and reluctant, but with a slow, trudging sense of determination in each one too. I had to get away, to put space between us, lest I lose grips of that which was determined to destruct everything around me once more. Oh Sitka, what have you done to me? You have left me, and in your absence, I've lost a grip on all that is real or unreal, I've forgotten what it is to care, about myself or others. I've become disjointed, unwhole, my life seems to be leaking out of me through the many fractures that are left in your wake.

A voice breaks through the veil I have made. I would be lying if I said I wasn't relieved - I wasn't the cause of anther death, another departure from this world. Rasta calls my name, and my stride pauses, but it is a mere reflex, a moment's hesitation, before my broken mind forces the automatic continuation of my stride once more. The crème belle's steps follow mine, however, her voices unable to find cessation, and when she murmurs the word that defines everything I have lost - Sitka - my sharp, electric gaze peers over my shoulder to hold her in view, though I know her own pools are blind to the silent language.

You don't have to be alone. Sitka.. All else that she says is lost, taken by the wind that steals the words away from her lips. My ears press to my skull, and I grind my teeth as I struggle to contain the magic that longs to rain terror upon this scene. "No," my voice is dry, thick with the contained struggle. "He is gone. And he is never coming back." My voice drops, a deadly, poisonous edge, and with its words, a metaphorical barrier forms, refuting any further statements on the matter.

Saying the words out loud, I feel whatever connection I thought I still had with you, sever completely. I feel the tears well up behind my eyes, and before I can openly sniff and try to hold them back, I open my wings, and allow the wind to fill them. Up and forward, I push myself, looking only to the clear sky ahead, ignoring the aching, pulsing force that is my magic trying to break free, to contend with the searing heat of TallSun. Not today, nor any day, I fear, will I be ready to face the true, hard facts, that is your permanent absence.

[ Cirrus is out <3 ]

the Wind Dancer