Oct 05 2015, 03:56 PM
When she looked up there was no rock above her head. There were no cave ceilings littered with clusters of stalagmites and there was no water leaking in from somewhere - who knows where - and dripping onto the cave floor. There was nothing trapping her. There were no cave walls. No cave floor. No dull brown rock anywhere as far as she could see.
When she looked up she saw blue - deep and dark, bordering on dark purple, though in some parts it was blended with oranges, pinks and reds and there were soft-looking things strewn across it, stained by the warmer colours. As she watched it; as time went on, the colours blended together to form a dark colour directly over her head - dark blue, painted with silver and whites. Directly above her was something orange, purple and turquoise - marking the dark pelt above her like a scar.
Willow, in all her disinterest for most things, believed it to not only be beautiful, but terrifying.
She lowered her gaze and found herself in a tree - different from the ones she would find in Eridanus - something more like the trees in Cetus, impossibly tall and dark with thick, bushy leaves sprawled out in all directions. Below that, miles and miles from where she was perched, was a ground. Not hard, but not mossy like Eridanus and not disgusting and muddy like the swamp. It was soft with grass, wild and overgrown with blades that licked the tree trunks it surrounded.
And in that grass, was a mouse.
She couldn't see it. She couldn't hear it. But she knew it was there.
She was safe here - this she was sure of. Of course, she was safe in the caves too - but here she wasn't just safe, she was free. She could as soar as high as she wanted and for as long as she wanted without hitting stone and rock.
But something deep inside her didn't want to do that. It wanted to remain amongst the leaves and the twigs, high above the ground and high out of sight. It wanted to soar down, hidden by darkness, and snatch the mouse from where it stood.
She looked down. She could have been five miles away from the ground, it seemed, and yet her wings unfolded and she dived down, talons inches from the bark of the tree. On and on she went down, air roaring past her face and going through her feathers.
One minute. She was still flying. Two minutes. She was wavering - something was wrong. Three minutes. The wind seemed to simply blow her feathers away with it. Four minutes. Her wings were no longer wings, but darkened, wet stumps. If she squinted in the dark she could make out blood, but she had no idea where the blood came from - surely not her own wings? Five minutes. She wasn't flying. She was falling.
Falling, falling, falling and falling.
She caught sight of the ground. Falling, falling and falling, until it came to a complete and abrupt stop.
Willow opened her eyes with a start.
When she looked up she saw blue - deep and dark, bordering on dark purple, though in some parts it was blended with oranges, pinks and reds and there were soft-looking things strewn across it, stained by the warmer colours. As she watched it; as time went on, the colours blended together to form a dark colour directly over her head - dark blue, painted with silver and whites. Directly above her was something orange, purple and turquoise - marking the dark pelt above her like a scar.
Willow, in all her disinterest for most things, believed it to not only be beautiful, but terrifying.
She lowered her gaze and found herself in a tree - different from the ones she would find in Eridanus - something more like the trees in Cetus, impossibly tall and dark with thick, bushy leaves sprawled out in all directions. Below that, miles and miles from where she was perched, was a ground. Not hard, but not mossy like Eridanus and not disgusting and muddy like the swamp. It was soft with grass, wild and overgrown with blades that licked the tree trunks it surrounded.
She couldn't see it. She couldn't hear it. But she knew it was there.
She was safe here - this she was sure of. Of course, she was safe in the caves too - but here she wasn't just safe, she was free. She could as soar as high as she wanted and for as long as she wanted without hitting stone and rock.
But something deep inside her didn't want to do that. It wanted to remain amongst the leaves and the twigs, high above the ground and high out of sight. It wanted to soar down, hidden by darkness, and snatch the mouse from where it stood.
She looked down. She could have been five miles away from the ground, it seemed, and yet her wings unfolded and she dived down, talons inches from the bark of the tree. On and on she went down, air roaring past her face and going through her feathers.
One minute. She was still flying. Two minutes. She was wavering - something was wrong. Three minutes. The wind seemed to simply blow her feathers away with it. Four minutes. Her wings were no longer wings, but darkened, wet stumps. If she squinted in the dark she could make out blood, but she had no idea where the blood came from - surely not her own wings? Five minutes. She wasn't flying. She was falling.
Falling, falling, falling and falling.
She caught sight of the ground. Falling, falling and falling, until it came to a complete and abrupt stop.
Willow opened her eyes with a start.
Oct 05 2015, 03:57 PM
She did not find herself here very often. Alone, in a nest, in tunnel I. She did not find herself sleeping very often either - but this is how the owl had been getting by to deal with her exhaustion. Naps.
She had already deemed this particular instance a rather unsuccessful nap. She felt heavy and tired, and she was fairly sure that for a moment her limbs wouldn't pay attention to any mental commands she asked of them - instead they felt stiff and lifeless.
While she waited for her wings and her legs to obey her she found that, albeit with difficulty, she could move her neck. She had loved this place before, two or three cycles ago (Willow hadn't kept track of time) but now she despised it.
It was dark and cold and she could hear footsteps of gembounds passing by below her ledge but she did not dare to crane her neck up to see who they were - in fact she was sure she felt herself curl deeper into the nest to avoid being seen.
It didn't help she was alone in this nest. She would have much prefered Adeyemi to be curled up somewhere in her belly-feathers, chattering away endlessly like he usually did about - what she had usually deemed - everything and anything that was useless information to her. Despite this, she usually remembered what he would talk about fondly.
He lit her roost up, and without him it seemed cold, dark and deary. What a disgusting feeling this was, to rely on someone else for your own happiness.
She had already deemed this particular instance a rather unsuccessful nap. She felt heavy and tired, and she was fairly sure that for a moment her limbs wouldn't pay attention to any mental commands she asked of them - instead they felt stiff and lifeless.
While she waited for her wings and her legs to obey her she found that, albeit with difficulty, she could move her neck. She had loved this place before, two or three cycles ago (Willow hadn't kept track of time) but now she despised it.
It was dark and cold and she could hear footsteps of gembounds passing by below her ledge but she did not dare to crane her neck up to see who they were - in fact she was sure she felt herself curl deeper into the nest to avoid being seen.
It didn't help she was alone in this nest. She would have much prefered Adeyemi to be curled up somewhere in her belly-feathers, chattering away endlessly like he usually did about - what she had usually deemed - everything and anything that was useless information to her. Despite this, she usually remembered what he would talk about fondly.
He lit her roost up, and without him it seemed cold, dark and deary. What a disgusting feeling this was, to rely on someone else for your own happiness.
Oct 05 2015, 04:24 PM
With time, Willow felt her talons become obedient. They creaked as if the bone were thousands of years old, but the owl managed to find herself scrambling out of her nest. A hollow sigh left her lungs as she headed over towards the ledge.
The carvings were in direct sight from here. An old obsession. She could not remember why, or what she saw in them - they no longer interested her. Nothing did now adays however; but she was still baffled by her behaviour as a child.
Her head twisted back to look at the tattered satchel lying by her nest. It would be more useful as nest lining, by now. But filled in the satchel were rocks - smooth and mostly identical. She had spent a long time carving, with her talons, each section of the carvings of the wall onto them.
And for what purpose, she could not remember. But it did not matter anymore.
The carvings were in direct sight from here. An old obsession. She could not remember why, or what she saw in them - they no longer interested her. Nothing did now adays however; but she was still baffled by her behaviour as a child.
Her head twisted back to look at the tattered satchel lying by her nest. It would be more useful as nest lining, by now. But filled in the satchel were rocks - smooth and mostly identical. She had spent a long time carving, with her talons, each section of the carvings of the wall onto them.
And for what purpose, she could not remember. But it did not matter anymore.
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