I whittle away the day with deteriorating attempts at sleep. A night owl by force of habit, my evenings and early (before dawn) mornings are spent wide eyed and sleepless. Dreams still plague me, they never subside nor allow more than an hour or so of blissful nothingness. Because of this, my social interaction has become limited to the eagle (who bears my presence with far more patience than most.) Dozing till late afternoon (evening) avoids the crowded lanes of people visiting their habitual places of sanctuary. Occasionally, my fruitless struggles wane in favor of admiring their world as a rooted sapling would. From silent, unseen corners, I watch my fellow herd mates live, laugh…and love. Their ease of existence, their patterned and carefree life become an inspiration and envy. Before now, I’d never seen a world entirely at peace.

Those tranquil afternoons carry on…and my young, mistreated body is finally given a chance to heal those unseen lacerations that the fingers of magic couldn’t touch. Now, when I glimpse my reflection upon the glassy surface of water, the sight doesn’t highlight my insecurity and abuse. Hollowed channels have become plumper; those sunken (rib-like) crevices recoup and improve. A youthful, womanly shape begins to emerge around my midsection and hips. Malnourished sores have swelled, scabbed and fallen off. The torn (knots) in my mane and coat look healthier, shiny even. With every day, my troubled past fades a little more. Ventures into their world are extended bit by bit as my endurance and willingness increase substantially. Confidence builds like a ripple and terror submits to complacency.

----

The brilliant, burning orb surrenders power – navy darkness brings me from increasingly cramped quarters. In truth, if I gained much more weight, my den wouldn’t allow both feather and flesh to squeeze in. Though...my appetite has been ravenous of late…almost insatiable. With gentle, eager steps, I find my way down a familiar path. Ears and eyes are always watchful, but by now I’m not bothered with the commonplace noise of nocturnal creatures stirring to life. Beyond those evergreens – much like moody soldiers or shrouded towers – the whispering mountains are never far from sight. In those early days, their continuous presence reminds me of bleak, captive memories…but now…I find even the chilling evening breeze is warmer than a previous life in bondage…

A break in the trees sharpens my anticipation; a carpet of inked emerald yawns into view. Limbs quicken, hugging the road. Despite a heightened elevation, the grass is a tangy variety of spice; both sweet and refreshingly crisp. Irises spar a quick glance of the terrain for possible (imagined danger) but that is all the assurance my fussy innards would allow. My snout hits the ground as these toes glide clear of the wood. Wings resettle, loosening from their travel tucked sheath. After greedily consuming the growth of new green directly ahead – my feet start a slow crawl, mowing in a forward-thinking direction.

Voices drift in on the wind; ears perch head-most. With a mouthful of vegetation shuffling from either end, I look up to find a pair of silhouettes against the backdrop of a darkening sky. The necessity to linger like a wallflower is outdated, useless even. Yet…my courage to strike a conversation is still very thin. The handicap of language is an ever-present issue, it hinders my willingness to express and find acceptance in the ranks of this new…home. Home. I frown, mulling inwardly as these jaws work the lather of green paste downward. Home sits dumbly in the front of my mind…conflicted...though these lands have nourished me…I’ve yet to form a meaningful connection with the people who reside here. Aside from Noah.

In truth, I felt like a jagged, scratched and tarnished pebble that had fallen from the sky and landed upon a bed of polished gems.

OC: Hello! Hope ya'll don't mind me popping in! The muse is GOOD!

They linger, while I (with all the social grace of a tumble weed) waver between wandering off in the opposite direction or (the more unsettling notion) strike a (possibly fruitless, unappreciated) conversation. Possibilities wobble down from the ledge of encouragement. But my subconscious remains uninspired, she yawns and eyes them lazily; offering nothing to aid or deter me. Two toned temples cave while I grind through more mouthfuls of that sweet northern wheat. The cool, evening breeze nudges the high rise of my tail and hindquarters. By the time my jaws had worked that bit of grassy paste down the back of my throat and consumed a second mouthful…a conclusion had been reached. Slowly, I turn in their direction with lazy (seemingly uncaring) steps. Internally, a bargain had been struck.

If they remained long enough for me to wander up then I would approach.

If not....

I toy with my mind, gambling away those spurts of courage on the assumption that they’d surely move on long before my arrival.

Ears tilt, rotating in their bedded swivel. Constantly aware, habitually wary.  All around, there is the constant hum of crickets and the sharp voice of frog’s. They string together a harmony; a wordlessly, comforting melody. Occasionally, the wind brought out the bark of a fox or the faint rustle of a grubby possum. As I snail my way over mounds of abundant green…here comes the whisper of their murmuring. Those distant outlines begin to solidify, strengthening and simultaneously weakening my gamble. Nostrils flare, perplexed…I drink, aiming to pluck their scent.

Surprise unfurls moments later, brightening my expression. Noah?

Intrigue is like the wings of a butterfly, those velvet arms flutter with warm, recognizable fondness. Narrowed eyes settle on the larger, boxier frame of said two. Even before scanning for reassurance...my mind has already fabricated recognition. Though none had been there moments ago. There is no mistaken him. Whatever whispers of doubt remain, they vanquish beneath the assertive quickening of my pulse. A soft, quivering utterance flutters in the back of my throat; his namesake unfurls, climbing into the wind. Stained lips spread into a beam, while these irises reach with clinging fingers, "Noah!" Mini me bolts awake from her dozy, lazing state -- wide eyes fix themselves upon the duo with re-energized interest. These patchwork, twiggy legs respond to the whim of my jittery pulse. Pinions unhinge playfully, drifting a few inches from their sheath as I dance into a light, naive jog.

Even from afar, my anticipation can sense the melting embrace of his smile rising to meet me. Reaching out with tangible warmth; offering the assumption of encouragement. Unrestrained energy flows abundantly with every stroke and though my feet strike firmly, their light touch is mercifully soft upon the ground. Behind me, my dock rises to banner a tri fold of silk from the downcast position it usually hung. The lingering echo of self-doubt is squelched by his presence – Noah had a way of stirring my fledgling courage awake. Though, the sharp fang of anxiety couldn’t be entirely forgotten. As I close the distance, these lips answer his call with a smile, “hi!”

Sliding in – following his instruction via body language – my eyes shift naturally to Noah’s dark, shapely companion. An informal (instant) opinion begins to form. She (like my eagle) is blessed with height; her body is painted like the shiny, burning rock of my volcanic host…the one who’d held me in captivity. No…my subconscious murmurs, openly denying the negative resemblance…and swapping for a positive one. She that tiny voice whispers, captures the essence of midnight and the harvest moon. Irises dance upward, tracing the spiral dagger sprouting from the center of her face. The presence of horns has never been an oddity for me; however, the absence of feathered bloodlines…

His voice pulls upon my focus and derails me – optics spare a glance Noah's way, ears sway forward to absorb that surrendered name. Akumi. Mini me toys with it, testing the sound upon her silent lips before offering it back. When Akumi speaks, I only understand the first utterance – but her body language is enough to decipher the intention, "Akumi," though her name seems to come easily, my soft voice betrays itself by wavering and treading lightly with my self-confidence, "hello." The top of my head dips, taking cue from her to mimic...replicate.

A northern gale races over the plain, ruffling the grass near these legs and dragging long fingers down the lax arch of my arms. Mane and tail are both thrown into a sideways sweep. I tilt my head, aiming (and failing) to redirect those loose strands aside. A flash of tawny gold – irises tilt up, looking behind Akumi to find the source of color. Sitting amid the layers of red…a feather? Temples narrow while a new layer of bemusement is added to the growing heap.

There was no mystery as to the owner of said pinion...but why would anyone wear feather? What practical use did it have? Uselessly…my subconscious frowns and throws out (what she deems is) a logical solution. It has to be a formality. Trading feathers could be a way to show someone's willingness for a future friendship.

Go ahead, mini me whispers, reading my thoughts, be polite. Spurred by the desire to somehow stand upon the best foot possible, I pull my left wing forward and turn to rid the branch of two chocolate quills (both are semiplumes.)

OC: -head-desk- I'm so so so sorry for the wait ;-;
@Noah