Aure suddenly seems to care less about the plight of the herds versus the God of the Sun, and suddenly she focuses on more personal matters. As a rule I shy away from them, but given her condition and her tendency to be irresistibly kind, I can't make myself shut her out again. She speaks with optimism, feeding back to me what I had said but not understood before. What I said practically she said with emotion- while I had given callous advice, she makes me feel with her words.

And though I won't go as far as to call it all wisdom, I fail to see the harm in trying her way of thinking. I worry, though, that she won't be able to do it herself. Then again, can anyone? Not according to Aure- she says that we'll need company to cope. That loneliness, alienation, everything I've been purposefully subjecting myself to all my life, will do nothing to aid me. I suffer with the burden of the realization that I've been carrying myself incorrectly for years- that the downwards slope of my back and the hunch in my shoulders only served to bring me more pain.

More pain that that which had already rested in my gaze has been building up until now, when I learn how wrong I have been. My cloven hooves dig into the earth and it flies up in a dry, powdery dust, having been subject to Tallsun's heat even despite the shade. Not the shade is really enough, I can still feel the rays beating down on me as if it were noontime in the desert. I can still feel the mistakes and the emotion that accompanies them seeping through the canopy and finding their way down to me.

Arbutus senses my distress, and flies to my side in an instant. He resumes his post upon my withers, and picks at the base of my neck both affectionately and encouragingly. I cannot look at Aure, I feel too weak and lost to fathom continuing our conversation. The day has been long, the sun has left me weary. And so I rise, shoving aside the pain in my legs at first, and then realizing that I can't just do that any more. Realizing that I have to accept the worst of things, as painful as it may be. "I- I need to think," I burst out softly, keeping my head low and my gaze away from Aure's sparkling green one. The feather snaps again, making a noise like a spark or a whip, and my wings stretch upwards towards the sky. Sensing that we're to part, Arbutus turns forlornly to Aure and emits a soft, comforting coo. I let out a huff of air, practically choking on the dry heat of my next inhalation, and toss a soft goodbye to Aure as I lift off, and, suddenly, awkwardly, and alone, hit the air as I have been doing for years.