The rustling wind overhead and through the leaves of the trees being to the forefront of my thoughts the memory of first meeting Rift and how we discovered our relation. Dark lips turn upward in a rarely viewed genuine smile; the murmuring of the wind reminding me of the sound it makes passing through Rift’s feathers. Cerulean eyes glance upward foolishly expecting to see that crimson form hovering above and the smile falls away. I turn my attention inward to the bright memory of a well lit morning sky breaking the darkness in the cave I slept in. The curvature of my lips returns involuntarily as I recall how kind and patient Rift was as he talked me through my fear of him because of my sister’s murder not long before then.

The crates rattle and quake on their own as a once-clear mind wages war on itself.

Unspoken, mostly unfelt emotions tumble out of a mental crate in the form of myself during childhood; a lost girl. My mind’s eye widens as I am forced to stare into the broken soul of this girl..of me. Blackened head lowers in a physical effort to look away from the fractured look she wears, nostrils blowing wide with uncertainty. The attempt is made in vain as I cannot shake the image of the lost girl and the wind draws my attention to the sky in its mockery of Rift’s wing beat a second time. Softly I sigh, breathing out the growing disappointment at myself while longing to shove the image back into the crate if fell from. If I am to take steps toward self-recovery, I know I must not deny what has been long suppressed.

Inky lids slide closed over oceanic eyes while a racing heart begins to finally slow.

The rustling overhead changes then and the differences between feather and leaves become loudly announced. How could I ever mistake the two sounds? Longing to see my brother, I quickly surmise as eyes excitedly open. Disappointment is nowhere in sight as those great red wings fill my sight, speeding up my heart once more. “Rift” I breathe in a quieted version of my voice. As feathers brush across my skin I smile at him lightly and quickly move to close the small distance between us; hoping to lean against his solid form. He speaks then and my gaze falls to the ground, unsure. Softly, I reply, “Rift…I do not know if I am doing the right thing.” Cerulean eyes cloud over as an ashamed face looks away from him. How can I burden him with my troubles? I am already taking him from his home in selfish longing for his presence.


"speech"

OOC: