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I am going to be sick. I am about to colic. Jackal, the fucking bastard son of a man-whore and a slut and a thousand other names better not to write down. My wingbeats are quick and loud, unlike my normally relaxed strokes. I am going to be sick. I am failing at my life. How? How did this happen? I want to go home and lie my head down and breathe. I do not want this sick stuff happening to me. Why to me? Why did I lose my title? I deserved it, didn't I? I had been a good leader! I had led them well! Why me? Why not Archibald and Evers? Why, why, why, fucking why? Maybe I should have stayed. Nayati and Romani, I'm sure, will at least miss me. But I can't. I really, really, just can't. The shame's a thick mist inside my body, and it doesn't rise away.
It is Birdsong. The time of renewal, of fresh beginnings. Instead, whore-and-slut son Jackal beat me in a fight and I abandoned my herd. Maybe I am the whore. Or the fucked-up ass. I don't know. I don't fucking know! He pretends not to care that I have lost. Fuck him. Fuck the herd. Not my Nayati. Exclude her from my fucks and my swears and my bloodlust. I am not the warrior I once was. Fuck! What am I doing? I need to set my head on straight and rule again. I need to... I need to... I don't know. Fuck.
So I flew to Leander. I knew he, at least, would welcome me. I had immediately trusted him, something rare in this world of lies and fucked-up whore-sons who were fucking emo who were fucking ruling MY HERD. I was going to fu- I shook my head. Forget those thoughts. It wasn't the time. I tipped a wing, gliding silently across to catch onto a thermal. The hot air buoyed me up, ran warm fingers through my night-black wings. Thank the heavens my wings were no longer white. I was flying high, very high now. The world was a tiny quilt below me, black with a couple of blue and silver ribbons overlayed onto it. As I flew the long flight, perhaps four or five hours with occasional breaks, the sun began to rise.
It first hit me three hours in, golden and cream, edging the world in fine golden thread and splashing it with brilliant whites. The yellow eye glared at me, but I just dropped a hundred feet lower with an up-stroke, before continuing on. By the time I reached the Throat, dawn was truly beginning. Pink skies, singing birds, all the fucking doo-das and twiddle-dees. I land. There is no reason to go into details. I land with an infinite grace.
"Leander!" I shout. I don't feel happy, and I don't feel like fucking around.
""
sometimes i wonder what i'm trying to do in this life.
but mostly i just want to fly.
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