Hearth

My fate apparently pines for company. I had heard the daintiness of the stranger's footsteps in the loose sand and swiveled my ears back along with a glance, my attention caught as I bore witness to its pale outline merging upon the imperfect mirror of the rivers glossy surface. I mused over the reflection, observing it, considering its long irregular shape and unclean edges before dismissing its existance and returning to my supping, no less perturbed then before. Many things come to the river as all things share the hunger for the silver blood of water. Who am I to be offended by the presence of another creature? I am Hearth and I am not so piety nor am I so frightful. I am wise in wary and know when to fear, for I have traveled and seen many things. Now is not one of those times for no pard scent lingers in the air, no rattle decrees its presence and nothing meaning harm pauses so timidly upon the shore to dispense malevolence. I offer whatever is near a faint shrug of my wings and wouldn't have given another thought to it had it not spoken to me.

The greeting is bright and young, a match for the strength of sun that radiated all around. However, I could not say the same for the being it sprung from. As I turned to look my eye befell upon a sad looking beast as lanky as a doe filled the hollows of hunger. I am burdened with a sort of ache, a faint afterthought, at his condition, if it is one at all. I know the fangs of Winter as well as my wings know the lift of the air.
It is an unforgiving time and indiscriminate in its ways. Be strong or perish. None can escape its grasp without a struggle, its pressure unyielding. Some feel it worse then others and hang on by a thread. Healing from the hardship may take longer then the season itself at times. What was the case for my company I do not know and I would not ask nor judge.

"The same to you, twigs."

The words spill out of my mouth like a habit in response to his greeting, albeit in good humor along with a crooked smile. 'Twigs' was merely a stylized way to sum up his appearance and seemed, to me, a fair enough return for calling me 'feathers'. A sort of game, as it were. Looking closer ( or at least paying more attention to detail) I could almost feel a certain want, a curiosity burning in his cold eyes at my great wings and, on a whim, fold to my hunch. Ponderously, reverently I unfold the arm of my closest wing and extend its mighty length toward the young stranger, exposing each individual feather to the gloss of the sunlight as to unveil their hidden patterns of banded fire so that they may be observed more closely.

" Look and see." I invite kindly, tilting my head in turn to my open statement.



____________
"Speech."

For flame, for heart