I CLOSE MY EYES AND I FIND YOU
It’s not often that he feels this way - like a bird taking its first flight out of the nest, a child who has so much still to learn. His voice is soft, his posture humbled, and through it all his heart thumps away inside of his chest, too fast and painfully loud.
”Why so long?”
Does he tell her? Does he explain the way he flew too high once, how far he fell? Aion can still remember the searing pain, the way his wing crumbled when every one of its fragile bones shattered and his blood rushed forth to spill across a marble floor. He could tell her that the amputation was the worst part, how the world went dark when the hot knife cut through his flesh.
But does he dare?
His jaw tightens, the tendon in his neck bulging. His expression is one of shame when he looks away, because even after all this time the pain of knowing it was his fault is as fresh as it ever was. Even now, when he has new wings, wings more brilliant than the old could have ever dreamed to be. But the way light dances along his feather, creating a ghostly appearance, reminds him that that is all they are: ghosts. A replacement for the ones he lost.
“There was an accident.”
He’s surprised to hear his own voice, having already decided he wouldn’t answer her. But he breathes the words anyway, and with that sigh his shoulders crumble inwards, his head dropping. The tension, or at least most of it, is gone in an instant, because suddenly he’s tired, so tired. He's powerless against it, and again he finds himself feeling like a child, unable to move, unable to escape the grip of the past, frozen in place. Only his ears move, catching her words and the faint rustle of her wings.
“Don’t ever lose that - every day, fly like it’s your last flight.” ”Because you never know when it might be,” he doesn’t say, but his eyes suggest it anyway when they lift and look at her again.
His heart stutters and skips - and for a moment he feels like he’s bleeding again, the way his heart races to catch up. He’s thankful beyond words when the subject finally changes, her words clearing his mind of memories and bringing him back to the present.
He shakes his head, straightening his shoulders. “No. This is my first time.” His blue eyes are somewhat critical as they look across the water to the sand beyond, where dune after dune churns beneath the desert sun. He had never been one for the heat, and perhaps a trip to Denocte would have suited him better - but the reputation of Solterra’s blacksmiths and jewelers was without rival. “It’s… different. I imagine it takes a tough sort to live here.”
It’s the closest thing to a compliment that he can manage, but this time, when he looks at her he holds her gaze. And there’s something similar to a smile playing at the corners of his dark lips.
@elif
walk. "talk."
