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‘Molten fur, banded with tar and stained with the blood of kinsman and foe alike. I knew him only as a mortal demon who took from the world whatever he desired. A fiend who crushed and ascended at whim; burning would-be friends and traitors in the same wild, insane flame. Mercifully, I was but a grain in his kingdom; an oddity, a pet. (Though not the sort to be lavished with affection.) In their world of blue hearts and chaotic minds – mortality, mercy and empathy became a rarity. For the majority living alongside me…life seemed short and painful.’
Searing fingers balloon in my chest. The tendons in these corroding limbs have surpassed their limit a half dozen miles behind me. Feathers thrum…submitting my ambition to the whims of those untamed torrents. (I no longer have the strength to demand control of it.) For three days, I’d traveled on foot and wing. Early on it was the fear of being caught (a certain, slow torture) which spurred me. But when I glanced back at the end of that first day and was unable to find their looming pinnacles...a new, complex reality began to set in.
I was persecuted and homeless.
Anxiety bleeds into a prolonged dread…blending with stinging uncertainty.
The sun sets and a pattern emerges: fly, walk, drink and eat.
But I don’t sleep.
Twice in a day, I stop to ease the hunger pangs in an angry gut and quench my screaming thirst. After using water to misplace my scent, I cower in whatever shelter the land readily provides; saucer eyes are rimmed crimson and burning with unshed tears. But even on the lip of exhaustion…sleep doesn’t come. In those rustling overhead branches, I could see his face…in the windblown wheat, my serrated mind fabricates his dappled fur and snags a glimpse of his soft chocolate eyes…deepening an unreadable complexion.
And here I am…driving myself beyond his reach.
Beyond the tether of a broken promise.
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At daybreak on that fourth day, I’m hardly able to rise…’much less fly.’ With numbing resolve I tuck these weary, trail stained hollows against my sweat and dust caked fur. Dredged limbs stutter onward, seemingly capable of functioning on autopilot; by high noon I pass (wobble) into a grove of trees that progressively darken the various game trails with shadows. A small boon, considering summer’s heat is like a miasma, hovering over the red hue soil and singing locust. Pale feathers shuffle inward, weakly tightening their hold against my thin body.
