to feel his bones burning inside

I have explored this foreign land many a night alone, watched only by Coyolxauhqui. I searched for the man Gull and the Tiger, time and time again getting my hopes up only to have them crushed. I followed the path dutifully, mindlessly dragging myself through Helovia at Coyolxauhqui's whim, hoping to get somewhere. Legs grow weary, wings grow tired, yet I continue to push for fear of failure, for fear of letting down Nantli— for letting down my people. 

The only place I got, was the exact same place I'd begun. It was the crowded forest with lost and weary souls trapped behind gnarled trunks, praying that today someone takes a moment to notice them. And I do— I notice every individual with their hopeful eyes and confident steps, some hesitant to push beyond the boundaries of familiarity. I find a secluded area, still able to hear the lingering whispers of past and current conversations, shuffling hooves and anxious feathers, all mixing together to create a rather unpleasant feeling. Here I come to rest, long after Coyolxauhqui had passed beyond the horizon and Huitzilopochtli had taken her place, eyelids heavy and breathes shallow as my conscious fades for a moment of much needed silence— 

What I do not expect today (or any day) is to witness a crash. 

An unfortunate pegasus comes tumbling through the green canopy, body barreling through the serenity of a calming afternoon nap, crushing my hopes of rest before they can even begin. A startled gasp escapes cerulean lips, golden eyes wide as twisted ivory tunnels through layers of tissue to surface along sloping shoulders, presented like a deadly collar against blue hide. The familiar feeling of knitting flesh readjusting to its new position encompasses my mind, spine tingling at the sensation of tissue setting and wrapping around new bone. The bone blades at my shoulders come in pairs (one for each side), a spontaneous reaction to the fall of an angel. 

I am not the only one to notice, black and gold dancing in my peripherals as the fallen mare plucks at her feathers with ease, no hesitance as she tears away some of the damaged ones. Aureate eyes fall to the discarded feathers, ears twitching in sympathy at the hidden pain she must be feeling— tearing away ones own feathers is no small feat. Ornately decorated head turns to Ovidius, the perky mare whose golden horns travel down her spine, as she talks more. Ears slant down, unappreciative of her outgoing personality. I remained calm, finding this no laughing matter while a grin spread across onyx features. "All okay?" I ask the xolopitli, a pierced brow rising as the question drifts between us. "Need ticitl for wounds?" The short, simple questions are all that stumble from dark blue lips, eyes trained to the violet kissed woman as I await her answer. 

-- xolopitli means fool, ticitl means healer/medic,