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.

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. "I never regret. It's ... a policy."

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 ... have never seen them before." 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.


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 ... permanently. Made it our home. And never came back. Centuries, millennia passed. Meanwhile, your kind ... stagnated. Went into a dark age."

"And then?" he whispered.

"Over the past century, our leaders have grown corrupt. Our society has ... as yours did ... 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. No air." 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. A weariness. 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. Gliders."

"Balloons," she said, nodding. "Gliding planes. They fear that you'll be able to reach our cities soon. That you'll discover us ... and, once you do, that you'll attack us." Pause. "Three decades, maybe four. That's how long it'll take ... with the way your technology has been advancing." She shrugged. "Who knows." A breath. "I know that sounds like a long time, but ... in heaven, there's no real sense of ... time. There's no seasons.

"Anyway, 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'm ... different. I ... wanted to experience things. 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. They had been trailing me, and ... they 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. They sensed it in my mind."

Silence.

"So," he whispered. "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. To adapt. 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."

"But I don't ... "

"Because you're weak," she explained.

The squirrel bit his lip.

"I maybe ... used to think that," she said, "but ... not anymore. Now that I've ... felt ... understood you ... Azure ... "

He nodded quietly.

"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. "There's nothing to tell. I was born here," he said. "In this forest. Have lived here ... well, 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. "And my loneliness led me to ... things. And ... no one approved. They reigned me back in. And I was weak, and I ... let them." Pause. "I should've fought. I should've gotten away."

She listened.

"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." A breath. "I have this ... innocence about me, and ... the real me is gentle, quiet, and ... but I wear a cold exterior. Cause I don't trust anyone. Cause ... I don't know. I don't even know what I'm saying."

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," Akira 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." Pause. "You're, like, my medicine or something."

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.


Azure bobbed up and down on his foot-paws, grinning. They were walking through the woods. In the dark. Lit by starlight and only a sliver of silver moon. He had stopped, taking several deep breaths, eying a low-lying branch a few feet above his head. His nose and whiskers twitched in preparation.

"Watch this," he told her. Breath filtering into the air.

She stopped, wrapping her wings around her body. Retaining her warmth. But still shivering. The cold affected her a good deal more than it did him.

Akira watched him crouch down, coil, and leap, grasping the branch with both paws, slender, furry form swinging back and forth like a gymnast. Then, again, he was a squirrel. A natural born acrobat. Agile. Nimble. His body swung, twisted, flipped. Tail fluttered in the air, and he released his hold on the branch, landing flat on his foot-paws in the dirt and leaves. Knees bending. He then stood and opened his arms, still grinning. Beaming, was more like it. Chest heaving for breath.

She clapped her wings, paws together, nodding. "You're marvelous." She couldn't help but smile. "I couldn't do," she said, shaking her head, "Something like that." She wrapped her wings back around herself.

"Oh, but you can fly," he told her. He sounded so much like a little boy just then, when he said that. Such awe in his voice, such reverence. For her. She had to blush.

"Yes, but ... it doesn't take that much skill. What you do," she said, nodding to him, looking to the branch. Back to him. "You bump and grind with gravity. Without a parachute." She smiled, considering. Daring him. "How many flips, exactly, can you do," she posed, "Before hitting the ground?"

"Four," he said proudly.

"I don't believe it." She was still smiling.

"Uh-huh," he insisted. "Watch."

He repeated his springing leap from before, swinging faster, faster round and over the branch, which creaked and shook with his weight, and at the last possible moment, as he passed the point of no return, he let go. Ducking and tumbling through the air. Two, three ... four times, paws padding the earth. He teetered, waved his arms. Fell to his rump and tail. Sighed. And laughed, tilting his head. "Well, I did the four flips, at least."

"I'll have to teach you how to land properly," she teased, giving him one of her wing-paws. She hoisted him to his foot-paws.

Azure brushed his fur with his paws, brushing off dirt and leaves. Stray particles. He went to grooming his tail as they continued their walk. Azure put his backpack back on, which contained their supplies, some food. And other things.

"Mother says," he told her, eyes fixated on his tail, tongue grooming each hair into place. "I'm too thin."

"Well ... a bit, maybe," the bat admitted.

He looked to her.

"I haven't seen you eat but a bite since we've been on the move." It was a matter-of-fact statement. Motivated by concern.

"You need the food more than I do," he said, looking back to his tail.

"My ears are just as good as yours," she reminded him. "If not better. I hear your stomach growling."

He sighed. Dropped his tail, which moved behind him, arcing and bobbing as his legs and hips moved.

"I just," he started, not wanting to talk about it. But, then, if he hadn't wanted to talk about it, why had he presented an avenue for its discussion? "I just ... am very self-conscious."

"About your body?" she said. She tilted her head. "I kind of noticed."

He looked to her.

"The way you always hold back. At first. How you need to be coaxed into letting your guard down, into ... giving yourself."

"I don't have a problem giving myself to you," he said, a bit defensive.

"I'm not saying you do. But I'm saying," she told him, "That I notice your tics. You may be a keen observer. But so am I, and ... you can be very, very modest. Shy," she said.

"I know," he muttered.

"Anyway, it's almost winter," she said. "Don't you ... don't squirrels need to gain weight for winter?"

"I don't want to."

"Azure," she said, frustrated. She blew out a breath. "You're beautiful. I don't ... why don't you know that? I think," she said again, "You're beautiful. I don't think padding a few pounds will diminish that in any way. I mean ... look at me," she said, opening and flaring her wings. "I'm rather stout, you know." She was shorter than him, too.

"I think you're perfect."

She nodded. "Yeah. So, how about we stop ... "

"Again?"

"Again. We stop and sit down, and you eat something."

"I don't need to."

"Why?"

"I don't ... " He shrugged, stuttering. "I don't like thinking about it. About food," he said, "In me. Digesting." He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I'm not hungry."

She shook her head, incredulous. "So, wait. Wait. You get queasy at the thought of food ... "

"Not all food. I just ... I don't like to gorge myself with food. I don't ... I eat enough."

"The process of eating makes you queasy, but the much more messy, germ-swapping, much more intimate act of physical ... "

He cut her off. "Look, I'm ... I'm," he stuttered, flustered. "I'm bizarre, okay? Don't try to figure me out."

She had to laugh. A warm laugh. She walked up to him, put a wing under his chin, lifting his head a bit. "I think you enjoy it."

"What?" he asked, stepping back, adjusting the backpack on his shoulders.

"You like being ... shall we say, detached. Quirky."

"And why's that?"

"You crave things that are unique. In a world of so many creatures, you need," she said, more seriously, "To know that you are distinguished. That you aren't a drone."

He made a face. "Well," he said, opening the backpack, taking out some food. "I will eat some acorns."

She smiled and nodded. "Do that, then."

"I will," he insisted, and using both paws, he brought one to his lips, nibbling.

"Take a huge bite," she teased. "Just ... chomp it."

"Squirrels nibble. We don't chomp."

"And bats bite," she told him, showing her fangs.

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning," she whispered into his ear, eyes gleaming with mirth. "Do not tempt me."

He smiled, nodded. Nibbled. "Oh, I'll try not to."

She beamed at him, grinning still. About to say something more when her ears perked and rotated. She leapt at the squirrel, knocking him down with an oomph. Knocking the wind out of him, shielding him with her wings as a dark, quick, blurry form rushed past where they'd been standing. And then disappeared.

Akira cursed herself quietly. "They've found us!"

"What ... what?" Azure asked, regaining his breath, sitting up.

"Alright. Alright," she said, mind whirling. How ... how had they found them? By their voices? Echo-location ... scent?

Another blurry form was approaching. Dive-bombing. Tucking wings and coming in like a dart, like a falling, furry arrow, teeth bared and claws on wing-paws and foot-paws aimed for piercing.

"Left, left," Akira hissed into Azure's ears.

The squirrel, clasping to her, rolled to the left, and they rolled end over end. Out of the way. The dive-bombing bat missed them, faded away. And Azure scrambled to his knees, pulling her up, too.

"How many are there?" he asked, looking around. Compared to her, he was blind in such darkness. He felt so helpless, so frustrated.

She sucked in a deep breath and fired off an echo-burst.

The squirrel watched her, fascinated by her ability. By all she could do.

"Five," she whispered. "Three circling above the tree-tops, two ... below, swerving back to us."

"How are we gonna," the squirrel started.

"We'll get away. Just ... think," she said, looking to him. "I can maneuver us, okay, but I don't know the layout. Where can we hide? Do you know where we are?"

"I think so."

"Where?"

"There's a creek a few hundred yards away. Can't you smell the water?"

She sniffed the air. She could, in fact. She nodded.

"It gets bigger as it winds along, and turns into a river, nearly, as it leaves the forest. And then it goes across the plains. So I've been told," he said, for he'd never been outside the forest. Not in his entire life. "There are some more caves around here. There are lots of them. Some on the creek-side."

"Bats can't swim," she told him.

"They can't follow us, then."

"Azure, I can't swim," she said, almost frantically.

"I can," he told her.

A swooping, swift attack. And, Azure, using his agility, twisted and grabbed onto the bat's foot-paw as he missed them, passed them. The bat kept going, jerking Azure across the forest floor. He yelped and held, gritting teeth, feeling his nose scrape across the ground. In a flash, Akira was in the air, darting, flapping after them, rising above some of the limbs, darting and weaving in and out, and then falling. Punching the other bat with a direct ram, sending all three tumbling to a rough stop in a bed of pine needles.

Azure moaned, rubbing his nose.

Akira spread the attacking bat's wings, shoving him to the ground. Pinning him. His blue fur shone pale in the night.

"Leave us alone," she told him.

He laughed. Harshly. "Do you really think we will?"

"No," she said simply. "But I thought I would try a nicety before I resorted to violence."

The other bat swallowed. He shook his head. "No bat has ever killed another."

"Really? As I recall, the Council was considering sawing off my wings with a dull blade."

"The Council has the right to do so. They pass judgment."

"Really?" she said again, sarcastic.

"And who said cutting off your wings would kill you?"

"And who said," she whispered into the male bat's ears, fangs closing down onto his ear-tip. Pressing until he squirmed. "I'm gonna kill you? How about I just chew off ... "

"Akira," Azure whispered, trembling. "They're watching us."

Akira turned. The other bats. On limbs, wings wrapped around them. They sat like statues. Eyes blue (for they were all male). Blue and piercing.

The bat beneath Akira's grasp shoved her off and fluttered up to join them. And then one dropped down from the trees, landed. Walked up to her.

"I told you this would be fun," he said.

"Ereth," Akira whispered.

Azure looked from Akira to the new male bat. There was an obvious sign of recognition flitting between their eyes. And Akira wore a look of disgust.

"Consider yourself caught," he informed her. While she fumed, breasts heaving with angry breath. Teeth bared. And Ereth padded over the squirrel. Looked him up and down. "What a scrawny thing. I can't believe," he hissed, turning back to Akira, "That you ... consorted," he spat, "With a rodent."

With a nimble, quick leap, Azure pummeled into the blue bat, battering his paws against his face. Taking him to the forest floor and drawing blood from his muzzle. The other bats began to rush forward.

"Back off!" Azure screamed, paws around Ereth's throat. Own furry chest heaving. Tail twitching. He leaned down, eye-to-eye with Akira's acquaintance. The other bats stopped their swarming. Paws still around Ereth's neck, the squirrel said, "You can call me a tree-hugger, a mouse with a bushy tail. I don't care. But do not," he growled, baring his teeth, "Call me a rodent."

"My. Seems I," spat the bat, spitting blood up at Azure's face. Azure flinched and squinted, turning his head. "Struck a nerve," Ereth finished. "Anyway, that's what you are," he taunted, whispering. "A rodent."

"Shut up!" He delivered another blow to the bat's face, knocking him unconscious. And, swimming in an adrenaline-filled rage, he backed off, getting to his foot-paws. "And leave Akira alone," he said, barely audible.

"Azure," Akira whispered, in a state of semi-shock. "Are you ... "

"I'm fine," he whispered, suddenly ashamed. He wiped the blood from his cheeks. Glaring at the other bats. "Go away," he whispered to them, voice vulnerable. Cracking. "Just ... go away." A heave. And, as an after-thought, "Please."

The bat that had originally attacked Akira began to prepare a descent, when he whirled. The barn owl. A lumbering, deadly-quiet missile. Falling. And it got him. It was all over. That quick, that fast. And the bat was screaming as he was crushed in the bird's talons and carried away, facing a gruesome fate.

The remaining bats scattered in no time, and Akira grabbed Azure's paws, yanking him away from the scene, pushing him through the dark. He was crying, and she was frantic, and neither of them noticed they had reached the creek until they had splashed into it, wetting their fur. Blindly they fumbled about. After about five minutes of wandering downstream, they found a small cave. Big enough so that it wasn't claustrophobic.

Creeping inside. Shaking. Confused. Falling unconscious. Again.


"Here," she said gently, standing behind him. "Raise your arms."

"I can undress myself," he mumbled, blushing. Sullen.

"Arms," she said simply.

He raised them, and she pulled his shirt up and over his paws, tossing it to the sandy bank. It was morning, and they were outside the entrance of the cave. Where they would spend the day. Until night. When they would move again, but more stealthily this time. The next hunting party would be larger.

She sat down behind him, hugging him from behind. Her wing-tips running through his chest-fur. "Are you okay?" An honest question.

He didn't have an honest answer. "I've ... I've never done that before. I wanted," he said, and he shook his head, clenched his eyes closed. "Right then, I hated him. I don't think I've actually hated anyone like that."

She looked pained, and she leaned into him, chin on his shoulder. She gazed out at the water, watching the ripples and the currents.

"Akira, that's not how I'm like, you know?" He turned his neck to meet her eyes. "I wouldn't hurt you, and ... "

She shushed him, moving her wings to his lips. "I know. I know you wouldn't." Pause. "We all have violent instincts. I was ... I was going to bite the other one's ear off."

"Were you, though? Really?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. It seemed a good threat. The point is ... he was being a jerk. Ereth was. No. No, he was being evil. He had no right to call you that."

He nodded. "I just ... that's an insult, you know? That's a very deep ... " He shrugged. "It's not said."

She whispered into his ear. "You protected me," she told him. "No one's ever fought for me before."

He blushed. "I'm sure they have."

She shook her head. "You were ... " She searched for the words. "You were valiant."

He laughed lightly, a smile warming back to his face. Which had a few streaks of blood stained to the fur.

"I'm just ... I'm not that violent," he told her. "I shouldn't have ... "

"We need to wash up," she reminded him.

He nodded.

"Legs," she said.

"Hmm?"

She nodded at him, waiting.

He blushed, moving to his back. And raised them, and she undressed the rest of him, and then undressing herself.

They waded into the water.

Akira gave a sort of squeal. "Oh, it's cold!"

"Course it is."

The bat started to inch slowly, slowly in.

"No, no," insisted the squirrel. "No, you have to dive in. One fell swoop. You'll only torture yourself."

"Don't you dare," she said, already reading his mind. But it was too late. She laughed as he drug her down and in. She gasped, flapping about. He laughed and let go, sinking, bobbing.

They treaded water, which rippled and circled around their limbs and movements. Little, tiny fish – minnows, perhaps – darted between and then away from them. Out to the middle of the creek, which came up to their chests. The squirrel and bat treaded, treaded water for a while, following the fish.

Azure tried floating on his back, but sank.

She giggled, doing the same. But successfully.

"No fair. Your wings are like ... water-wings." He smiled, taking in a mouthful of water and squirting it through his teeth.

She laughed. "Don't do that. I'm sure that can't be civil."

He did it again.

She flared her wings and brushed them against the water, sending waves of water at him. He turned his head and took the splashes, dripping. Sighing. She stopped, and they both floated in relative peace. Listening to the birds.

"I saw you had bird feathers in your room," she said. "On your desk." She sliced her wing slowly, slowly under the water, raising it above the surface. Breaching. Allowing the liquid drops to drip from her, rippling back to their source.

He nodded quietly, licking the water from his lips. Drops dripping from the end of his nose. "Songbirds," he told her. "There are some pretty ones." He took a deep, tired breath. "I like to watch them. Listen to them. I can identify them, you know. I'm pretty good at it." He shrugged, as if there were nothing more to say on the subject.

She nodded.

"I don't have many hobbies," he said. He shrugged his furry, bare shoulders again. "Most creatures have interests. With me," he said, sounding sullen (still), "I just ... I don't."

Akira rolled her eyes.

"Well ... "

"Well, Azure, please," she said, sinking down into the water. She sighed. "I don't like it when you're ... dark," she said, sounding dark herself as she said it.

"But I am dark. Anything else is just a front."

"I don't believe that," she said gently, tilting her head. "And I'm sure you don't, either."

He shrugged his shoulders once again.

"Let's just," she said, taking a deep, cleansing breath (or imagining it as such). "Let's just not worry, okay? We will get through this," she said, "And we will be fine. And don't," she warned, pointing a wing-paw at him, "Respond with a shrug."

He nodded. And he felt a bit better, but ...

"You still have blood on your cheeks," she noticed.

"Only a dark creature would be wearing blood," he remarked.

She said nothing, only pulled him into the shallows. "Sit still," she said, wetting her wing-paws. She rubbed the blood from his fur, scrubbing.

He tilted his head and grimaced.

"Oh, that doesn't hurt," she told him.

"Mm," he went.

"Mm," she echoed. "And what does that mean?"

He said nothing.

And she sighed, finished. "There," she said, trying to smile. She bit her lip, sinking down into the water, at a sit. In the shallows, with him.

"I didn't sleep well last night," he told her.

She rubbed her own forehead. "I know. I was there."

"I'm sorry," he apologized.

"Look, Azure, you don't have to keep doing that," she said, a bit on edge.

"Doing what?"

"Apologizing," she stressed. "You're making me feel bad, and ... and neither of us has done anything wrong, okay? I mean ... last night, for instance. We were attacked. We were defending ourselves."

"I wonder, though," he said, barely audible. "The thing is, I wonder, if things had been ... if I had been pushed hard enough, how hard would I have pushed back? Would I have killed?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. She grabbed his head between her wings. "No. Azure," she said. "Listen."

"What?" he went, dully.

"Listen." She swallowed, taking a breath. "I love you, alright."

He looked to her, fur and eyes glistening. From the water. Or were his eyes glistening from tears?

"Alright?" she whispered.

He nodded, and she saw that they were tears. For they left his eyes and went down his cheeks. Though he didn't sob or make a sound. He sniffed and let out a shaky breath through the nose. "I love you, too," he mouthed, as if the words were so delicate he was afraid they would break.

She smiled and kissed his nose.


After they had dried and dressed, they sat in the entrance to the small cave, waiting for dusk. Upon which they would move.

"It's starting to get grey again," Azure said. "Out there." Pause. "Maybe it'll rain."

"Maybe," she whispered, wings wrapped around herself. Shivering.

"Are you cold?"

"Well, I'm ... " She stopped and nodded.

He coiled his bushy tail around her back and stomach, like wrapping her around a blanket.

She smiled. Breathing in his fur. "Thank you," she whispered.

He nodded, biting his lip.

"There's something about a good storm," Azure continued, staring back out at the grey. "In the summer, when we have these vicious, dark storms. Big thunderstorms, and the wind picks up, lightning forks. The rain pelts you. You can't see," he said, eyes distant now. In memory. He blinked and swallowed. "Everything is humbled. And you know it. And it heightens you, you know?"

She nodded. "I think so." Pause. "But we don't have storms up there," she said, looking up. Up to the blue. They could see the clouds, and from here, they could even see the cloud that housed the city. High, high up. Smaller from this view. Not a view Akira was used to seeing. In her mind, that place loomed big. Unreal, somehow. But one couldn't see the city itself unless one was over the cloud-top. It was sufficiently hidden.

"Is it always sunny, then?"

"Well ... for the most part. We are," she said, as if reciting something from legend, "The highest cloud. Above the weather," she said. "But not above the stars." A smile melted to her face. She looked down to the dirt, the cave floor. She traced invisible patterns with the ends of her wings, her claws. "The moon is so big from up there. Everything is so clear. So vast," she said. "Like you can't imagine."

"It sounds like a beautiful place," was what Azure said, cause it felt like the appropriate thing to say.

"It is," she whispered. "It's my home," she said, a tweak in her voice. Shrugging her shoulders. "As much as you want to hate the place where you came from, as much as you want to rebel," she said. "You're attached. The cord is never cut. It stretches, but ... you're tied for life."

Azure nodded, looking at his foot-paws.

Akira gave a brief, melancholy laugh. "Now I've got both of us feeling homesick."

"Maybe," he suggested, trying to relieve their depressions, "We'll make it back some day. Years. Decades," he said, though hardly able to grasp such a passage of time. Such a future. He was still so young. "Maybe things will be better, and we can return."

She didn't answer.

Azure blew out a breath. The chill was burning the tips of his ears, but his fur was keeping most of him warm. Oh, to have your ears burn. What a feeling. He breathed in deep. Feeling his lungs expand.

"Do your ear-tips," he asked her, "Burn? Right now?"

She blew out a breath. "Yeah," she went.

He nodded. "What do you do up there, in the clouds," he asked, "When it gets cold?"

"We stay inside. We have big buildings, these ... these cavern things. They reach up, and some even go down into the interiors of the clouds themselves. It's ... I don't even know how it all works," she admitted.

"We used to hibernate," he said. "In the winter." He trailed.

"Used to?"

"A few decades ago, they ... " He swallowed and shook his head. "They came up with this medicine, this concoction. Each squirrel, and every other hibernating creature, takes it every year. These herbs and things. You take some every day. It does something to your blood, or ... " He shivered, whispering, "Tastes foul."

She waited.

"But it blocks the urge to hibernate. It ... rewires your brain."

She hesitated a second. "Why would they do that?"

"Hibernating," he told her, meeting her eyes, "Is not efficient." He scoffed. "Not that I believe that. I mean ... you still feel the urge, the pull," he told her, "But it's not so strong. Before, you had to. In winter. But, now," he said, "You can resist. Without much of a problem. You can keep working," he whispered, "And working. All through the dead of the world. And for what?" he asked.

"Well," she said. "If you had to hibernate, you could gain some weight." She poked his stomach and chest. "Just don't take the herbs, then. Problem solved."

He frowned. "Well, they make you do it." His frown melted into a smile. Hibernation. "I would be a sluggish ball of fur at your feet for a good two months, at least. I would be incapacitated, aside from brief snatches of consciousness." His smile faded again.

"I would watch over you," she said sincerely.

He nodded, then said, "I've haven't gotten my dosages yet. This year. I was supposed to ... this week, but ... " He shrugged.

"Yeah?"

"I hadn't thought of it until just now," he said, suddenly going quiet. For several seconds.

"So, what will happen?"

"I figure I have a few weeks, you know. A month. When it starts snowing, I'll get sluggish. I won't be able to travel."

"You're saying," she said quietly. "If we don't get out of their range ... "

"We'll be away from them by then, I'm sure. They won't follow us to the ends of the Earth, right? They'll stop sometime?"

She wasn't sure. Only said, "I will watch over you. When and if you have to hibernate, I'll take you somewhere. I'll stay with you all winter."

He bit his lip. Eyes showing his gratitude. And then he said, "I'm sorry. That this problem, my ... that this will happen. I don't mean to do this to you." A whispered, "I fear so much ... being aburden."

"No. No, it's not a problem," she assured him softly. "What did I say about apologizing?"

"You said to stop," he mumbled.

"You're you. I can handle a groggy, sleep squirrel." Pause. "What about the nightmares?"

"Hibernation is normally deep. The dreams ... they can't disturb me. But I haven't," he said. "I haven't actually hibernated before. I've only read about it, you know." He swallowed. She realized that the thought ... was making him visibly nervous. He was afraid. "What if I go to sleep and never wake up?" he whispered. "What if I do have the nightmares? It'll be like I'm dead," he started, his prey-like instincts flaring.

"Azure, that's not how it works. Even I know that." She tried to assure him. "It's not an inconvenience. Honestly. We all have," she said slowly, "Our vices. Comes with living. You have your prey instincts, your hibernation, and I," she said, pausing. "I have a rich heritage in the sky. One that barricades me from the world. I have my wings. I can fly, but I can't swim. I can't fit in. You have nightmares. And I ... " She sighed, stopping. Shaking her head in confusion "I am going," she said, managing a smile, "To not dwell on vices."

"I'll toast to that," he said, grinning.

"With our lovely vintage of creek water here." She tossed a pebble into the water, creating a ripple effect.

"Only the best," he said, kissing her wing, "For you."

She laughed, sighing with some sort of content. A feeling that, not so long ago, she was certain she would never feel. And she wrapped his tail tighter around herself, snuggling against his side, leaning her head on his shoulder. Staring, through half-open eyes, at the water. At the trees and gaps of darkness and splashes of light that hovered here and there. And everywhere.