my spirit's veering flight
like swallows under evening skies.
like swallows under evening skies.
It is a strange comfort, the feeling of the other woman's skin against her own. For so long Samaira has been on her own that her body seems to both celebrate such contact as if it has been far too long, but that it too is quite unsure of such a foreign phenomenon. And then she thinks how this woman so readily laid down at her side and took the weight of her wing across her back and wonders if she could ever be so comfortable. Is this what it is like, to be unafraid? Her heart, perhaps, beats a little quicker but for what she cannot say.
That heart, oh how it sings at the words spoken by the steel eyed mare. ‘A lot of us,’ and if that isn't music, joyful and bright and growing, to her ears. She is an us, a part, no longer different or outcast. Samaira can't tell if the wrenching in her chest, the freewheeling butterflies in her stomach, are joy or sadness. Both, perhaps. Mourning the girl who lived so many years wanting nothing more than to have peace, while celebrating the one who might at last find it.
“I am glad, then,” she says, the smokey accented tones of her voice velvet in the night, “to be saved by you.” To be saved at all. To be gifted with and worthy of saving. All Samaira can see when she thinks of the alternative is what she learned in the pages of history books about the war that caused the pegasi to lose their lives and their wings. A shiver dances across her skin, but that fate is not hers. Not anymore.
She breathes in deeply and looks at her companion's eyes, only a few shades darker than her own, and then up toward the sky. How far it reached, how she longed to follow it without fear. After a moment she speaks. “I can stand,” and she braces her legs beneath her and rises slowly from the mud and muck. Her heart beats quickly and her breath sharpens against the twinge of her wing, but still draped across the other woman's back there is less strain on it. “Show me where to go and I will follow you,” her eyes shine like the moon, wide and bright.
And though everything in her feels unsteady and strange and new, they will disappear into the darkness of the swamp, perhaps side by side, perhaps with the feathers of Samaira's wings quivering beneath the weight of all her emotions. With crickets singing to them among the sound of a breeze in the trees, and the light of the eye of the moon above shining down on them, dappling their backs between swaying leaves.
That heart, oh how it sings at the words spoken by the steel eyed mare. ‘A lot of us,’ and if that isn't music, joyful and bright and growing, to her ears. She is an us, a part, no longer different or outcast. Samaira can't tell if the wrenching in her chest, the freewheeling butterflies in her stomach, are joy or sadness. Both, perhaps. Mourning the girl who lived so many years wanting nothing more than to have peace, while celebrating the one who might at last find it.
“I am glad, then,” she says, the smokey accented tones of her voice velvet in the night, “to be saved by you.” To be saved at all. To be gifted with and worthy of saving. All Samaira can see when she thinks of the alternative is what she learned in the pages of history books about the war that caused the pegasi to lose their lives and their wings. A shiver dances across her skin, but that fate is not hers. Not anymore.
She breathes in deeply and looks at her companion's eyes, only a few shades darker than her own, and then up toward the sky. How far it reached, how she longed to follow it without fear. After a moment she speaks. “I can stand,” and she braces her legs beneath her and rises slowly from the mud and muck. Her heart beats quickly and her breath sharpens against the twinge of her wing, but still draped across the other woman's back there is less strain on it. “Show me where to go and I will follow you,” her eyes shine like the moon, wide and bright.
And though everything in her feels unsteady and strange and new, they will disappear into the darkness of the swamp, perhaps side by side, perhaps with the feathers of Samaira's wings quivering beneath the weight of all her emotions. With crickets singing to them among the sound of a breeze in the trees, and the light of the eye of the moon above shining down on them, dappling their backs between swaying leaves.
![[Image: 13481303_KpOIcOG7drxHK9U.png?1556314753]](https://file.toyhou.se/images/13481303_KpOIcOG7drxHK9U.png?1556314753)
we'll fulfill our dreams
and we'll be free
