The wind continues to fight me. I glide for a moment, passing but a few rays of sun, and it drags me back. I push forward, and it shrieks, wrestling what strength I have left out of my soul.
Nothing comes easy since the moon fell out of the sky—the darkness embraced me, kept me cloaked and safe. Now, there is nowhere to hide. Their eyes are everywhere, and their claws are sure to follow. Even the trees have begun discarding their leaves, rendering me as bare as their branches, leaving me at the mercy of death’s arrow.
Dare I stop for a moment? Can I give in to the weakness in my wings, and escape the fate of the flock of which I alone am left to dot the sky? They all fell as wooden thunderbolts from below brought them crashing down like raindrops soaking the land in their life’s blood.
There is little choice. Even as I struggle to climb further away from the ground, it pulls at me, the weight of its desire sapping my will. I aim for the ragged peaks, talons forward, then fold my wings keeping myself still as the granite upon which I grab hold. If the rocks accept my burden, if refuge is to be found, I will carry the song of my ancestors back into the night. And I will lay the future of my kind upon a nest of hope.