the Wind Dancer

I seem to fly amongst them, unnoticed - perhaps it is my pelt, my camouflage, that hides me from their sights, or perhaps they simply do not wish to see me, to acknowledge me. Perhaps they are simply too focussed on their race, or perhaps they do not wish me to exist any more. The thoughts cloud my mind, they darken it to a place I was more than familiar with -one of self-hate, self-loathing and the denial of all things that might be joyous in my life. So easily and quickly had I slipped from the happy, life-embracing creature who participated in this race, so swiftly I had thrown that away to fall into my dark, lonely world of exile - and why?

All because they did not see me.

I hear a howl, though I know it is impossible, I know it is you. The song fills my heart - and I realise it is not a true howl at all, but you, within me, filling the fracture within me with yourself, filling it and so filling me with life. I sing again, that joyful song, clinging to you and your memory with hope and determination that I would not lose you again - and I surge forth, seeing myself overtake many an adversary, darting through the first ring with clipped ease and skill, as if I were born to do this, and nothing else.

The joy carries me onwards, and as I glance to the others who join in the race (and triumphantly watch others fall to elimination), I notice something change about them. Their bodies seem to shimmer, to distort - and then I feel it across my own skin. It is not unlike the sensation of having clouds crawl across your hide, which I experience every waking moment of my life, only it is deeper, making changes that are far larger than that of a simple hue change of one's fur. I feel my bones click and contract, my tail flatten and shorten, my nose press and my nostrils gasp for air as suddenly everything becomes strangely misshapen.

What the devil had I become?

I blink, my cerulean eyes small and beady, looking and seeing that others had also changed - I could only assume I was the same variety of duck and beaver body parts thrown together, flying haphazardly through the course laid before us. My wings beat furiously - I sorely miss my expansive, generous wingspan now - my tail scooping up what wind it can as my feet push me forever forward. I try to summon my wind, to remember the feeling of your soul within me, to control that which I have never fully grasped control of for as long as I can remember, and encourage it to fill my diminutive wingspan, to propel my body forth and past all the others. But would it work?

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Cirrus is attempting to use her magic to summon a breeze that helps push her further forward.