Akira was on a large, thick branch. Halfway up a sycamore tree. She scanned the area. It was night, the dead of night. And not even the moon was out. She took a deep breath and fired off a few echolocation bursts, which squeaked out into the black. Bouncing back to her. No other creatures in this part of the woods, and this was only a patch of a larger forest. He could be anywhere. She sighed, feeling dejected, softly banging her head against the trunk of the tree. Stopping. She took a deep breath and launched from the branch, flapping and maneuvering down to the ground. Landing with a soft scuffle.
She spun, hearing something. Or not. She had good senses, but she’d spent her entire life in the clouds. No natural predators. Even spending over a week here, when she’d been injured ... even then, she was still unfamiliar here. This place did not fully know here. It did not fully trust her. And she couldn’t blame it.
She launched into the air again, flapping haphazardly, quickly, dodging about, firing off echolocation bursts. A creature of the night. A creature of the dark. Living by her calling, her instinct. It had been a long time since she’d flown in such tight quarters. And a long time since she’d actually used her echo-ability. But they came easily. And so, unworried, she searched. Searched the forest for the squirrel, for Azure.
She lighted upon tree after tree, searching for dens. He had to be in one of them, but ... she began to grow frustrated. She did not know where he lived. But, then, it had never come up. She had hidden out in the forest, out deep. He had visited her. She never thought to ask where, precisely, he lived, where his home was, where ...
A rustling of feathers. And close. Akira, in the air, banked. Hard. A barn owl, heart-shaped face far from innocent, cruised past. Like a bulky missile. So deadly, so quiet. She had barely heard him in time. And he faded from view, melting back into the night. And her heart rammed her chest with fear. Such fear. How close ... how close had those talons been?
She fluttered away and found a hiding place, in another sycamore tree. And she sighed and slumped down, hugging the mottled white and gray branch. She didn’t even know owls went for bats. She didn’t even know owls existed. She’d never seen one. It hadn’t even said a word to her after the attempt on her life. He just glided off, mumbling.
She began to feel a desperation, a panic. Where was Azure? Where?
And then she heard the sound ...
A small, weak squeaking. A panicked whimper. Her heart leapt and sank at the same time. She knew that sound. When they’d been together, when they had slept ... in the middle of the night, she would awaken. Azure would be twitching and whimpering in his sleep. Every night. Every night he had a nightmare. She debated whether to ask him what they were about, whether to ... but she never did. She didn’t wish to embarrass him, so she never let on that she knew.
She remembered putting her paws and wings to his brow, remembered whispering into his ear. Still sleeping, eyes closed, he had clutched at her. After a few minutes, he would grow quiet. He had been so vulnerable, so ...
Jarred out of recollection, she nodded. Swelling with emotion. Nodding. Yes, that was him. She collected herself. And it was coming from the next tree. She flapped and hopped to it, an opening toward the top. The top room in a series of dens. His family must live in this tree, she decided. The architecture, the carved rooms, stairs, everything ... it was impressive. Not as other-worldly as her cloud cities back home, but solid, sturdy. Grounded. A simple design, and a simple home. And that had a tremendous appeal.
She found his window, stood on the branch outside his window. She peeked in. Spouted off an echo-burst, to make sure it was him. The pitch was high enough that it wouldn’t wake him. She wanted to be sure. And it was. It was him. She smiled, letting out a breath. She knew it. Nearly giddy, she wondered if she could squeeze in through the window, but ... her wings got in the way. So she whispered.
“Azure,” she went.
No response.
She sighed. “Azure,” she said again, louder this time. But he was too deep, too drenched in whatever nightmare he was dreaming of ... to notice her. To wake.
She looked at the window okay. Okay. Okay, she went. Maybe if she tucked her wings close enough to her body, she could wriggle through. Regardless, she couldn’t go through the front door, down near the bottom of the tree. She couldn’t get caught. His family didn’t know about her. It needed to stay that way. And she couldn’t wait until morning to catch his attention, because the search parties would be out by morning. She needed ... she was running out of time. Out of time.
She sucked in her breath, and though she was a rather stout bat, she wriggled, wriggled through the window, falling onto the floor of his room with a thud.
“Ouch,” she whispered, rubbing her head. Frowning. She sighed and slowly stood, and then looked around. A smile creeping across her face.
She walked over to what looked to be his desk. There were papers, loose-leaf notebook papers. With pen writing on them. Blue pen. Written by Azure’s own paw, in cursive. They were ... they were stories. She smiled as her large, blush-pink eyes darted over the words. Her. He was writing about ...
“Me,” she whispered, and she shuffled the pages. “Oh.” She sat down in the chair at the desk, smiling. Reading a description of herself. She raised her brow. And put the papers down. And, in the dimness, lit by ... what looked to be ... she squinted. Fireflies. Fireflies in a container. Green, luminescent flashes. Bright. Bright. Bright. They lit, lit, and flashed like little fireworks. Providing just enough illumination. Just enough.
She turned back from the fireflies to the desk. He had little trinkets. Rocks. She picked them up in her paws. Turned them end over end. A few books, some toys. They were toy ships. Sailing ships. Airships. There were feathers from birds. Sketches, too. She looked over the items. She grinned as her eyes fell upon the plush animals. Squirrels, mice, rabbits. Even a bat. She picked up the bat, hugged it to her chest, and then held it away to look at it. She squinted.
“We don’t look like this,” she whispered. Pause. “At least they got the wings right. Mostly.” But, then, bats were reclusive. They didn’t mingle with land-dwellers. Hadn’t done so in thousands of years. She put the bat down, turned around. She sauntered slowly, silently, to Azure’s bed.
He was curled up under the covers, in a ball. Bushy tail peeking out. Shaking. Shaking softly. Shivering, and not because of the cold coming through the window. She was sure of that. She saw his clothes on the floor, in a small pile. By the bedside. The jar of fireflies was by his bedside, too, on a small stand.
Akira climbed carefully onto the bed, crawling over to him, pulling the sheets and covers back. He shivered, his furry chest rising, falling. Rising. Falling. He was clutching a mouse plush as if it were a life preserver.
“Oh,” she went, brushing his cheek. He looked so ... adorable. She smiled. But the smile melted away as she watched him twitch, paws and claws digging into the plush. Wringing. She had to wake him. Had to save him from whatever it was that was stalking his sleep.
“Azure,” she said, straddling his belly, leaning down to whisper in his swivelling ears. “Azure,” she whispered, more sharply.
His eyes snapped open. And he jerked. As he twitched and tangled with her, tumbling from the bed to the floor, Akira frantically appealed to him. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she said quickly. “It’s me.” She grasped his head between her paws. “Me,” she whispered.
“Akira?” he breathed. Letting out a sharp breath, a sigh, and his paws and arms were around her neck in a second. He breathed heavily, pausing to swallow.
“Don’t cry,” she whispered to him. “It’s okay. They got me, but I fled them.”
“You shouldn’t,” he said, blushing. “You shouldn’t wake me like that. I’m ... I’m prey, remember?” He blushed.
She nodded.
“You’re alright, then?” He crawled with her back onto the bed.
She nodded again. “Yes,” she breathed. She leaned her forehead against his, closing her eyes. Breathing him in. “We’ll have to be on the move by morning, though. They’re looking for me.”
“Why?”
She hesitated. “I’ll explain it all,” she promised him, “Some other time.” Pause. “Not now.” She kissed his nose. He picked up the mouse plush again, then let it fall from his grip, to the sheets. “We can rest for awhile,” she told him. “Not for long, but ... ”
He nodded, leaning back. Laying back. Head on pillow. She laid beside him. They both looked to the ceiling of his room. Breathing in and out. The room was a bit chilly. Azure pulled the covers up over them.
She turned her neck, looking to him, smiling. “You have a nice room.”
“Thanks,” he said, biting his lip. He sighed. “I do like my home.” Pause. Still biting his lip. “I’ve been ... blessed,” he whispered.
“I don’t want you,” she told him, more seriously, “To leave just because ... because you feel you have to,” she said. “I don’t want you to have any regrets.”
“I don’t,” he whispered quietly, meeting her eyes. Which seemed a darker, richer shade of pink in this dark. Or semi-dark. The fireflies were still detonating their lights every few seconds. Casting an eerie, but somehow cozy, glow.
She nodded, nuzzling her nose into the fur on his shoulder.
“When you were gone,” he admitted to her, “I was ... afraid.”
“I’m okay,” she assured him.
He nodded. “I know, but ... ” He sniffled, sighing. Letting out a breath, taking one in. “No one saw you come in, did they?”
“No.”
“You came in through the window?” he asked, surprised. Figuring it out.
“A tight squeeze.” She blushed. “I’m not as slender as you, but ... I got in.” Pause. Breathing in, out. “I had a hard time finding you.”
“I should’ve told you where I lived.”
“No, I should’ve asked.” Pause. “Anyway, I found you.” She fumbled for his paw, clasping it. “That’s what matters.”
He lightly squeezed her paw back.
“How did you find me, then?”
She hesitated.
“What?”
“I heard you,” she whispered.
“Oh.” Pause. He opened his mouth, and then closed it.
“You don’t have to talk about them if you don’t want to. I mean ... I have nightmares, too. Everyone does.”
“I guess.” He nodded weakly.
She kissed his cheek, and they laid there a while longer. In the dark. Lit by the fireflies.
“Those fireflies,” she said dreamily.
He smiled. “I call them lightning bugs.”
“Really?” she asked.
He nodded.
“They’re wonderful. I’ve heard of them, but ... very rarely see them.” She peered into the jar-like container. The bugs scattered, moving away from the side of the jar she was looking in from. She pulled back, returning head to the pillow. “I don’t think they like me,” she said, in amused tone.
“Why not?”
She looked him in the eyes. “I eat bugs.”
“Oh.” He nodded, blushed. “Of course.”
She giggled. “Oh, you’re so bloody cute.” And she sighed deeply into his cheek, kissing him again. Once, twice. Moving to his lips.
He squeaked. “Um ... I don’t think we should ... I mean, not here. There are rooms below us.”
“Of course,” she whispered knowingly. “Anyway, we need to get going. We can’t be lulled into lying here all night.” She wriggled out of the bed and stood, stretching her wings. Returning to serious mode.
“Where will we go?”
“I was hoping you would know of someplace in the forest. A place where we can hide during the day, where they wouldn’t think to look. They’ll swoop below the tree-tops, but only cautiously. They’ll be afraid of being spotted. They’ll only skim. As long as we’re out of immediate sight ... ”
“I know a few places.”
“The Cloud City,” she told him, “Is above the forest. The forest is miles and miles ... miles across. It’ll take days to get out of it, but if we get beyond it, into the plains ... ”
“You think they’ll stop the hunt?” he said, hopefully.
She paused. “No.” She started stuffing things into Azure’s backpack, including his mouse plush, and some books. “But at least we’ll see them coming.” She zipped the pack closed and tossed it to him. He caught it, clumsily, and slipped it onto his back, standing, starting to pace.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I, uh, I pace ... when I’m nervous.”
“That’s okay,” she said. “But, uh ... ” She smiled. “Before we leave you might want to, uh ... ”
“Yes?”
“Get dressed,” she mouthed.
“Oh,” he whispered. Nodding. “Um ... okay.”
She giggled and slumped against the wall, pink, furry form shaking with silent mirth, waiting for him to get ready. And when he was, he slipped out of the window first. And then helped pull her out.
“I can fly to the ground. Can ... ” Before she could blink, he was scaling down the trunk, head-first. He reached the ground before she did.
When they were both on the ground, bare foot-paws on the dirt and fallen leaves, she nodded at him, impressed.
He shrugged.
“Which direction?” she asked.
“West.”
And, in the dark, quietly, off they went.
Chapter Four - Cave Tails
They hid in a cave. All day, they hid in a cave. Rocky, damp. Grey. And their voices echoed when they spoke. And you could hear drops of water drip, drop, dripping. And it was dark. So they stayed near the entrance. Sitting on a blanket on the rocky ground. The blanket wasn’t much of a cushion.
“Are you gonna tell me yet?”
“Hmm?” Akira went, looking up to him. Pink eyes and form suddenly, utterly feminine. Always was, but ... in that certain moment, that certain light, she simply glowed of it.
His brown eyes lingered on her. “Um, the ... the reason they’re hunting you? Everything that’s ... ”
She nodded, reluctant. “It’s a long story. It’s very ... political.”
He bit his lip and nodded. “That’s okay. I want,” he said, “To know.”
She considered a moment. “And you deserve to know.” She sat across from him on the blanket. They were separated by a few feet. A cool air drifted in through the cave opening, creating a livening, energizing chill. She breathed in the cool air. Deeply. And began.
“Our society,” she said, tilting her head, eyes drifting, “Is ancient. We’re the oldest race on the planet. We’re ... we’re elevated.”
He listened, ears perked. He held his bushy tail in his paws, grooming it. His obsessive-compulsion. But he listened. And eyes settled on hers, darting away now and then. So he could regain his composure.
“Long ago, they hunted us.”
“They?”
“Your kind. Land-dwellers. Because we had wings, cause we were different. We were feared. Demons, they called us. They started rumors, lies. That we sucked people’s blood. So forth.”
“They still tell that one,” Azure said. “As a scary story. Around the fire at night.”
She smiled, but only lightly. “We were scattered, back then. We were driven from our homes, and ... well, we eventually banded together. Fortified. Over the centuries, we took higher and higher to the skies, and as we expanded our knowledge, we found out how to build our sky cities. How to mine the clouds for our benefit. We took to the sky, then, permanently. Made it our home. And never came back. Centuries, millennia passed.”
“And then?” he whispered.
“Over the past century, our leaders have grown corrupt. Our society has stagnated. No outside influence, no exposure. Like being trapped in a beautiful room, but ... one room can only contain so much beauty. And the dust gets in. And you can’t get out.” She shrugged, spreading her wings, closing them. “Dust,” she whispered. She swallowed, tilted her head again. “Dust entered the fabric of our being.
“We’ve always held to tradition. Arranged marriages, pre-picked roles. One doesn’t choose love. One doesn’t choose their profession. One has it chosen for them. Everyone puts up with it, but ... it sows a bitterness. And over the years, as we became addicted and drunk on our isolation, we forgot we were residents of the world. But I came to realize,” she whispered to him, “That we were all dying. Our species was dying. Physically, we all are, but that’s not ... not what I mean. Inside,” she said, putting paws and wings to her heart. “Inside, we were dying. Our isolation,” she said, “Is doing more damage than any hostile attack could ever do.” She paused, swallowed, regained her breath.
“The Council always schemes about launching aerial attacks on you and the other land species. In the past few decades, with your primitive aerial ships ... ”
“Hot-air balloons.”
“Balloons,” she said, nodding. “They fear that you’ll be able to reach our cities. That you’ll attack us.” Pause. “A decade, maybe two. That’s how long it’ll take. By then, the way your technology has been advancing, you’ll discover us. Reach us.” She shrugged. “Who knows.”
“I proposed we open our borders. That we explore. Send down ambassadors to the world. That we return ... and the suggestion was not taken cheerfully. I therefore decided I would leave. Myself. Alone. I would go, and I did, only ... ” She blew out a breath. She blushed a deeper shade of pink than her normal. “I hit an air pocket on my flight down. I was moving fast, so they wouldn’t ... wouldn’t be able to catch me. Only, when I hit the pocket ... they caught up. Hurt me. I tumbled. Fell.” Pause. A shy smile. “And you found me,” she whispered.
He blushed. His arcing tail swept forward and brushed her cheek. She grabbed his tail with her wings, gently, and tugged it. Buried her nose in it. Continued her story.
“When they came and snatched me back, they kept me under guard. They were going to bring me before The Council. They accused me,” she said, sighing, “Of treason.”
“Treason?”
“They told me I’d given away our location, our secrets ... ” She shook her head. “That’s ridiculous. We can’t hide forever. And when we’re found, we can’t fight. We haven’t had such a conflict in thousands of years. We wouldn’t ... we wouldn’t win. Or maybe we might, but at a cost. I don’t think they realize,” she said, of The Council, “What they’re leading us to.” She swallowed, let go of his tail. “And when they found out,” she said, swallowing again, “That I’d ... been,” she said, “With you.” Pause. “They felt I had contaminated our line.”
He bit his lip, asking. “Well ... ”
“I don’t believe that. You know I don’t.”
He nodded.
“And I didn’t tell them about you, either. They ... snooped,” she said, with more than a hint of anger, “It out.”
He was confused.
“Our senses. You had only been with me a few hours before. They smelled your scent,” she said, wrapping her wings around chest, shivering lightly. “They smelled you on me.”
Silence.
“So,” he whispered, blushing a bit. “You escaped.”
She nodded. “I had to. They were going to put me to death. They never said as much, but I knew ... ” She trailed. “But no one is allowed to leave our society. No one.” Pause. “They will hunt me. And kill me.”
“I won’t let them,” Azure said, with a hint of bravery.
“I know,” she whispered gently. Touched. A smile melted to her face, and then faded as she continued once more. “Our society refuses to change, to grow. It’s like I said about loneliness. Our species is addicted to itself. It will lead to our ruin. But The Council has such a tight control, nowadays, on all affairs, and no one questions anything ... ”
“So, what ... ”
“Civil War,” she said, before he could finish the question. “That’s what it’s leading to. And believe me,” she told him, worriedly meeting his eyes, “If we descend to such a conflict, it will spill out of the clouds and embroil you. They don’t care,” she said. “They don’t care what happens to you. The squirrels or the mice or the ... any of the other land dwellers. Their plans for attack,” she said, “Will surface eventually. They’ll use it to distract the masses. Convince us that you’re a threat, that ... ” She stopped. “They’ll use you. You’re only a harvest to them. They want to dominate you.”
“Why?”
“They want to crush you. To make sure any potential threat is neutralized.”
“I don’t even feel I’ve adequately explained the situation. Unless you’ve lived as one of us, you don’t ... you can’t know the subtle complications. I can’t explain them.”
He nodded. “No, I ... I get what you’ve said.”
She smiled weakly. Nodded. Unfurled her wings from around herself. “It’s like,” she said, eyes distant, “There’s no joy there ... anymore. No one notices the little things. No one feels the details. No one,” she said, struggling to convey what she felt. “No one dreams. No one wants,” she said, sighing heavily. “Romance.” She shook her head, having steered herself into a mental minefield. “I don’t know,” she whispered.
He crawled over to her in the damp, dank dimness. He nuzzled his muzzle and nose against her cheek. His actions were always laced with timidity, but ... they were genuine. Despite his fears, his struggles with his confidence ... despite it all, she knew he was real. Somehow vibrant, beneath it all. And that was more than she could say for most things.
She put a wing to his chest, sighing. “I’ve put you in danger, you know, by ... by involving you in all of this.”
He simply nodded. Taking a breath through the nose.
“How about you?” she whispered into his ear.
“Hmm?”
“Tell me about your life, your species, your ... about you,” she said.
He sat up straighter, beside her. “Well,” he said, wondering where to begin. He paused and bit his lip, tail arcing and flitting. “I was born here,” he said. “In this forest. Have lived here all my life.” He shrugged his furry, brown shoulders. “I mean ... I haven’t done anything. There’s not,” he said, trailing, “Anything to tell.”
“I’m sure there is,” she told him. “I mean ... I think you undervalue yourself, your memories. Your ... your life,” she managed to finish. “Tell me things. I want to know them,” she said. “To know you.”
He blushed heavily, catching his breath. “Well,” he said, taking a deep breath, trying to start again. “Let me see ... ” He thought for a moment, and then began, “When I was a child, when I was ... younger,” he said. “I was very quiet. I still am.” Pause. “We live in a more remote part of the forest, so I always played with myself. My siblings. I didn’t ... I mean, I never socialized.” He took a breath. “Every time mother would leave the tree, I would panic. I would follow her, clutch her paw.” He blinked his eyes, sniffling. Shaky breath. “And, uh, I’ve ... we haven’t always seen eye-to-eye, me and my family. They’re all so driven, all so at ease in society, in ... in situations. “And they don’t,” he said, rubbing his nose for a second. “They don’t notice things like I do.”
“Like how?”
“Well, I’ve always been shy, you know. I lurk. I listen. I’m a very good listener. I have a very good,” he said. “Memory.” Another pause. Eyes darting in the dark. “I hear things, and I observe things. And it’s like I’m the only one seeing them.” He sniffled again, nose a bit runny, both from the chill and from his fragile emotional state.
“I guess I’m too poetic. Or something,” he went. “I daydream too much. I’m too naive. Everyone else, they can handle social things. But,” he stuttered, “I can’t. I’m so much more comfortable out here,” he said, gesturing around, “Out in the wild, in nature. You know?” His eyes glazed over. “I know I get homesick and all that, but at the same time, I long for the frontier.”
She nodded.
“Anyway,” he said, getting back on track. “I love my family. I think heritage is important.” Pause. “I’m not a purebred squirrel, you know. I mean, I’m not just one race. I have fox squirrel, red, grey ... my blood comes from all of them.”
“Really?” Her wing was running through his tail-fur.
He nodded. “I think place is important, too. This forest, this land,” he said. “Where I took my first steps, said my first word ... where my bare paws have tread,” he whispered. “I almost feel like I have an obligation,” he said, “To this place.”
Pause.
“I don’t want to destroy that,” Akirai told him. “Azure,” she started.
“No, I want to go. I’m just ... too sentimental. I romanticize thing and places,” he told her. “I make them, in my mind, to be more than they really are. Or were.” He looked to her. “But not you. Not,” he said awkwardly, gesturing with paws. “I mean, I know exactly what you are. What you mean to me,” he said, trailing. He sighed, frustrated.
“No, I get it,” she said softly. Understanding. “I know that feeling.” She thought of her home in the sky. “When you’re in a place, you want to leave it. When you leave it, you want to be back. You think about it day and night, and you’re certain,” she said. “You’re certain that, more than anything, you need to return. And when you do, it’s such a letdown,” she breathed. “It’s not what you really wanted. Turns out,” she said, shrugging her wings. “You never really knew ... what you wanted.”
He nodded. He knew as much. Was quiet for a second before saying, “I should be at school now, but ... ” He shrugged. “I’m not. And I don’t care that I’m not. It’s never,” he said, voice trailing and then picking up again. “It’s never that I hated learning. I mean, I don’t. But at school ... ” He sighed. “There was never, and never has been, a sense of discovery. There’s no wide-eyed innocence or curiosity. It’s all ... too structured.”
She nodded.
“Anyway, I don’t know,” he said, spreading his paws. “What I’m supposed to be doing with my life.” He smiled shyly at her in the grey dimness. “But I’ve, I’ve felt,” he stuttered, “So much better about everything,” he said, voice trailing, “Since I met you.” He cleared his throat. “And I’m not just saying that.”
Akira blushed, brushing his cheek with her wing. “You’re so sweet,” she whispered. “You know that?”
He smiled, bashful. Vulnerable. Tender. And warm.
“Like a million strawberries,” she whispered. Beaming.
He laughed. “Well ... ”
She giggled with him, the sounds of laughter echoing, echoing in the cave. Soon, they stopped, breaths showing as vapor in the air. Still side-by-side, sitting.
“They’re looking for us. Right now,” she whispered to him.
He nodded.
“Are you afraid?”
He nodded again.
She hesitated. “So am I.” She smiled weakly. “That’s not very romantic, is it? Fear?”
“Us squirrels,” Azure whispered to her. “I mean, you know I’m a prey species. More so than you.” He took a breath. “There’s this dormant, primal fear, this instinctual, underlying fear ... panic. It’s always there.” He almost whimpered as he admitted this. “Most squirrels develop the ability to compartmentalize. The walls I put up, though ... they have pin-hole leaks. It’s enough,” he said, “To weaken my foundations, my ... ” He stopped, thinking he sounded stupid.
“Is that why you shake at night? Why you cry out?” she asked sincerely. Large pink eyes wide and pure.
He nodded, feeling small. “Not just me. All squirrels, mice, all us prey species. We can’t,” he said, struggling. “We can’t be on the defensive in our sleep. That’s when the walls come down. That’s when the fear gets its outlet. It agrees to stay relatively tame during our waking moments. But in return,” he said, gulping, “It has free reign to stalk us in our sleep.” His chest shook. “It’s a parasite,” he said, almost hissing.
He rubbed his eyes pink and bleary with his paws. “Oh, I want to sleep.” His eyes watered. “I want rest,” he whispered. Desperate. “Oh, I wish I could rest.”
Akira’s own eyes pained at seeing his distress. She took a breath, wings wrapping around him. Like cradling a child. And he leaned his head against her chest, her fur. Sniffling.
“When this is over,” she promised him, “You will rest. I will watch over you,” she told him.
He blinked the water from his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m so hopeless.”
“You’re not hopeless.”
“Helpless, then,” he said, sniffing once more. “I’m so weak.” There was a hint of self-loathing in his tone.
“We’re all weak,” she assured him. Knowing so. “The fact that you can admit it and show your weaknesses ... that indicates a more honest, genuine soul than most creatures harbor. It indicates a courage.”
No one had ever told him he had courage. He wasn’t sure whether to believe it.
“Just promise me,” she started.
“Yes?” He sat up, still in her wings.
“Don’t let them black you out for the evening. Don’t,” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t let them crack you.” She shuddered, closing her eyes. She could feel how fragile her squirrel was. She feared, if they caught him ... and she sighed, opening her eyes. “If ever we’re separated, if they catch you,” she told him. “Fight them,” she said, showing her teeth. Passionate. “Fight them.”
He nodded silently. And then again. “I will,” he whispered. “I’ll try.”
She nodded back, assured. And looked to the outside of the cave. They had hours more to go ... until the next nightfall. And she allowed her eyes to close as he kissed her cheek. And she tilted her head as he moved to her neck. His hot breath flaring through his nose and into her fur. She opened her mouth and exhaled, vapor rising, putting her forehead down to his, wrapping her wings tighter around his back. His nose and whiskers twitching, mouth bumping into hers. She swallowed and leaned back, dragging him down with her. Into the shade of the cave-dwelling dark.
