I'm certain a chunk of brackish bile is still lodged in the back of my throat; sadly, no amount of swallowing seems to quell it. Despite all outward appearance, this babe is unbelievably light hearted, naïve -- she doesn't even mention or else isn't bothered by the awkwardness of my stumbling replies. Was abandonment easier if the child is a brat? Even still, I throb with a passionate desire to rewind these past few minutes, return us to a junction that would alter my path -- make it where these eyes would never lay on this pitiful creature. I wouldn't be wrestling with morality. There wouldn't be uncountable guilt drowning my soul in sorrow for that walking, talking skeleton.

Zahra, she calls herself. For a moment I couldn't and didn't acknowledge. Both mirrors had purposely been looking past her; to a fixed point in the forest that didn't make my stomach slosh. Though, after a mature moment of consideration...they unwillingly drift back to Zahra and that fuzzy animal she calls, Bird. Disconnected brows furrow automatically; a rash and painfully confused NO was already forming on my tongue. But...when our gaze locks -- those honeyed iris's hold mine accountable. I couldn't; can't leave this girl in these woods alone.

I'm not heartless, and becoming an adolescent murdering onlooker wasn't on my bucket list. "Camon," I reply without extra ceremony, as forthcoming as a pile of rocks being hurled from a cliff. Emerald eyes, dark with shadow and naked strain, narrow into a fine line of conviction, "Let's go." Those icy tendrils soar down, splatter against our bodies and dampen the fine airs. Creamy pinions start to tighten selfishly, snuggling in the warmth. At least...until Zahra shivers and sniffs. One hard eye jerks over; my left wing extends begrudgingly. Compared to this malnourished kid, at half mast my feathered limb dwarfs her in a rigid shadow. Without a word it drifts protectively over the top of Zahra's smallish frame (careful to remain adrift and avoid all physical contact). These hollow feathers contain just enough oil to be water repellent, at least for a little while. I could shield this child and her...dog...bird...dog...from the weather as we start at a turtle speed pace back onto the trail.

Luckily we don't have to travel far before our wore trail is clogged with bramble and towering blue juniper. Our path is soft, thick with dry leaf and pineneedle. A mild season has made the ground warm enough to avoid most of those icy, silken fragments from lingering longer than a moment. At least for now. Ahead and right of the trail is a broken grouping of empty oak and spiny fir; nestled in the east are a few young evergreen spruce trees that have lost their weathering battle. They are stubborn and half bent over, their swampy branches arch six or so feet from the forest floor and create a natural lean-to. In all likelihood it will be the best we can find; besides, my wing isnt used to being a pretend umbrella and the base is starting to tingle. The width is large enough to cover a full size horse, but Zahra would have to crouch or lay down beneath me. Not exactly the best arrangement... Spotted caramel limbs brush against the prickly foliage to lead us in.