She chomped on a red and white peppermint disc with her sharp, pointed teeth. Her white teeth. Fang-like teeth. Breathing out (and breathing in), creating a cloud of breath, of moisture, before it faded away into the high-blue chill. And she loved that chill. How it was sharp. Divine. How it would, how it could ... cut you. With no remorse. She wished she could be that detached.

"Akira," said a voice.

Her large, triangular ears perked, but she didn't turn around.

"Going for a fly?" the voice teased, coming closer. Daring.

"Perhaps," she answered slowly, finished with the peppermint. Wanting more. She was almost dependent on them. A near addiction.

A bigger bat emerged beside her. Ereth. The owner of the voice. His fur was a periwinkle-blue, as was common for a male bat. Lighter on the belly and wings. Her own fur was champagne-pink, a blushing pink.

"You are wanted," Ereth said, "In the chamber."

"The Council?" she asked, breathing into the air, looking beyond everything. To the vast, sprawling lands below. Brown, with some white, some greens. The land a patchwork of hibernating fields. Reaped for harvest. Now bare. Her foot-paws stood on the edge of the cloud. The biggest cloud in the sky, the foundation of their city. Their city in the sky. One of many. Her foot-claws dug into the wispy, cotton fluff. The chilled breeze ran its fingers through her fur. She briefly closed her eyes at this, before blinking them back open.

"Yes." The reply was concise. Empty.

She turned to him. He was taller. "I don't think it's worth my time."

"Then don't go," he told her, spreading his baby-blue wings and taking a step back. As if inviting her to rebel. "They'll only hunt you down."

"If I fly for it," she said, trailing, neck turning back to the world, the earth.

"If you fly for it," he whispered, nodding. "Yes." He lowered his wings, stepping back to her. "Akira," he urged, whispering into her ear. "You must accept ..."

"I didn't do anything wrong," she said, cutting him off.

"Going to the surface?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Consorting with a rodent?" He almost hissed. "Among other things. Who knows what secrets you harbor."

"He was a squirrel." She swallowed, flushed with anger. And changed the subject. "And I told you, I took a mid-air tumble, lost my breath ... I had to land," she defended. "And before I could, I was attacked," she said. Steely. "It was only then ... that I crash-landed. And that was not by choice." She was locking eyes with him. Her former fiancee, for lack of a better term. She had broken the pairing early on. A pairing that had been arranged from birth. He hated her for it.

"I don't believe your wings were ever damaged. You remain too ... elegant," he whispered. "Your movements," he noted. He took a breath. "It doesn't show."

She simply tilted her head, wearing a challenging look.

"Anyway, it's not just that, and you know it."

"Heaven forbid I find out about their ... private little conspiracy, is it? How much longer," she asked, "Can they hide these things?"

"Forever," Ereth pronounced. "And we are in heaven." He spread his wings once more. To the shimmering sky city behind them, to the natural land beneath them. "And we do forbid it."

"We," she whispered, and then mocked, "Oh, that's right. You're one of their minions? Or do prefer ‘shill'?"

"That's an unpleasant word."

"Too late. It's been said. You've been branded."

"I find," he whispered, nose and muzzle close to her face, nostrils flaring to take in her scent. He still wanted her. Their breaths showed in the chilly breeze, while other clouds, unanchored, floated by in all dimensions. Like islands in an inverted sea. "I find your brand does not stick." He yanked her forward, roughly, to a stop against his chest. "You will face the charges."

She squeaked and tore away, tumbling and tangling on the fluffed, cloudy floor. "Get away from me," she breathed.

"Fly, then," he challenged. "It would be so much more ... fun," he said, with a wicked smile.

Her breasts heaved, and her head hurt. She licked her teeth, nodding. Taking a breath as she scooted back, back, to the edge of the cloud. "To have fun," she began, eying the mile or so drop, then looking back to him, "You would have to have a living heart. There is no joy here," she said, of her home. The Cloud City. "And I am leaving," she declared, "Before I become ... whatever it is the rest of you are becoming. I will live my own life."

"You're confused," the male told her. Calmly. "You don't know what you're doing."

"Don't I?" she hissed through her fangs, taking deep breaths, steeling herself.

"No." Pause. He took a step forward, his three-toed foot-paws brushing wisps of cloud loose. They dissolved. "We caught you once. We'll catch you again." He cocked his head and smiled, teeth showing. "Maybe the next time, we'll saw your wings off. With a dull blade. Maybe that will discourage you."

"Maybe," she whispered, horrified by such imagery.

"Akira," he said sharply, but it was too late.

She tumbled off of the cloud, out and down. Down and out of heaven, the cold air swimming up and around her. She fell in a curled, furry ball for at least half a mile before letting out a chittering series of squeaks and flaring her wings, gingerly catching the wind. Slicing it. Flying.

And she circled down to the surface, for the forest directly below. It was vast. She could hide there, as she'd done before. But not for long this time, as they would know where to look for her. Where to find her. And it would only be minutes before a hunting party was assembled and launched. Her heart pattered into a frantic, prey-like beating. She had to find him. Night was falling. The beginning of a long, twilight struggle.

She had fallen. And all the bluebirds had fallen with her.

She had to find Azure.


TWO WEEKS EARLIER

The squirrel hung from a tree limb, by his paws and arms. He grunted and hoisted himself up, straddling the limb and raising his arms before sucking in a breath and swinging back down, knees and legs locked on the limb, so that his upper half (and his paws), went like a pendulum. Until he slowed and stopped. And he saw the world upside down.

When he got dizzy, he slipped to the ground. A bad landing, falling onto his rump.

"Ow," he went quietly, looking around. He was alone out here. Deep, deep in the forest. He should've been at school. In class. But ... well, he wasn't. And he wasn't going to think about it, either. He took his bushy tail in his paws. He was proud of his tail. His pride and joy. It was that way with most squirrels, but ... he kept his meticulously groomed. Fussed over it.

And his stomach growled, and he looked down to the ground, pawing at the dirt. He was hungry, but he wasn't letting himself eat. He didn't want to gain any more weight. He did not allow himself to eat, aside from nibbling on some almonds, some fruit. He skipped meals. And he knew he was hurting himself, denying himself, his body. But he didn't care. He wanted himself to hurt. That was the only way he could feel.

He shook the thoughts out of his head, sighed, and slowly stood. And that's when he heard the crash.


After a minute of scrambling and scrabbling through thorn bushes, around trees, over fallen trunks ... he saw her.

"A bat," he breathed. A silent awe. Bats were mysterious, alluring creatures. Rare. They lived in cities in the sky. And they didn't come down. Ever. Some even claimed they were a myth, but ... this was a bat. And a female one, too. He could ... oh, he could tell.

She craned her neck, squinting at him in the dimness of the forest. Under the trees. "Who," she breathed. "Who are you?" She swallowed. There was blood on her lip, and in her mouth. It tasted so bitter. She must've bitten her tongue with her fangs ...

"I'm," he said timidly, voice barely audible. He realized how small and weak he sounded. He almost felt ashamed. "I'm Azure. I'm a ... a squirrel," he said, shrugging.

She nodded, coughing. And tried to sit up, gasping sharply. He crawled over to her, on his knees, and helped her sit up against a tree trunk.

"Thank you," she whispered, eyes looking elsewhere.

His paw was on her wing, steadying her. He took it off, blushing. Nodding. "Well ... "

"I don't think it's broken," she said of her wing. "They, uh, they dove from too short a distance."

"They?" Pause. "You ... you were attacked?" he whispered.

She licked the blood from her lips, grimacing. "Maybe they'll think I'm dead. Anyway, it's almost dark, right?" She craned her neck to see through the tops of the trees.

"Um ... in an hour or so, maybe," the squirrel said. Nodding. "Yeah."

"They won't search until tomorrow. And even then, it'll take them a week to find me ... a forest this big. I'm sure," she said, nodding.

"Should I ... get help?," the squirrel said quietly.

"No," she replied sharply, looking to him. She took his paw in her own, which was at the end of her wing. "No. Don't," she told him. Serious.

"You're hurt," he said, sounding hurt himself.

Her eyes darted. "Us bats, we value our ... privacy," she said. "I can't have anyone aware of my," she said, looking for the words, "Fall from grace."

He nodded. Shrugged. "Okay." Pause. He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped. He would do as she wished. But it was clear to him that there was more ... more to this. His nose and whiskers twitched in a nervous anxiety. His tail flitted.

"They can't know I'm here," she whispered.

"Who? Other bats? Or ... "

"No one."

He nodded again. "Okay. I mean ... I won't tell." Pause. "Anyway, no one would believe me." He sighed. "And, besides, I don't have any furs I could tell." He regretted saying that as soon as it had left his mouth. It sounded like self-pity. Sounded like whining.

"You're forced to live within yourself," she said, nodding. Coughing. "I understand." Her tone of voice, and her champagne-pink eyes, her carnation eyes, revealed an honesty in her empathy.

"Can I get you something?"

"Food," she breathed. "Water."

"I have some in my backpack. It's ... I left it back there," he said, craning his neck to the direction from whence he came.

She nodded, eyes closed. And then she opened them again. "I should heal on my own, given time. We have ... abilities," she said. "Healing powers. I just need a bit of rest, is all."
Azure nodded dumbly. Almost like he was conversing with an angel. She had wings. She had fallen from heaven. Didn't that fit the definition?

The bat sighed, breathing steadily, breasts heaving. Tired. Battered.

"What's your name?" he asked her, then fearing it was too direct a question, added, "If you don't mind ... so I know what to call ... "

"Akira."

He nodded. Was going to say that was a pretty name, but bit his tongue. "Okay," he then whispered. "I'll go," he said, pointing his paw out into the woods, "Go get my backpack. But I'll be back. I won't," he said, breath shaking. "I won't leave you."

She squeezed his paw. Nodding her gratitude.

The squirrel lingered before scurrying and bounding off to retrieve his backpack. When he bolted back, breathless, he found her sleeping. He sat next to her, cautiously, to share his body warmth. A bit bashful. Checking her forehead for fever or anything. But how could one tell ... with a bat?

As night fell, he shivered in the late autumn air. Even through his chestnut-brown fur. He hadn't brought a blanket, but ... well, he had a jacket. He hurriedly took that out of his backpack, and he draped it over Akira. Letting out a breath, which showed in the pale moonlight. Before phasing into another realm.

Nodding, feeling a tangible worry, Azure breathed through the nose. And, mind whirling, tried to rest. He stayed the night. Ears swivelling at all the night sounds, body tensing. Eyes and vulnerable heart watching over the fallen angel.

He brought her food (berries, mostly) every day. He crudely patched up her wing, put some sort of medicinal cream on it. He didn't know what to do. She (again) told him not to worry, that she could heal herself, but ... he worried all the same. She wouldn't fly for at least a week, she had said. She was still in pain. But, as the hours passed, he could see it fading. This creature, this bat ... was so beyond him, his own abilities, his own comprehension. He felt like a small child when he talked to her. And they did talk. Azure, never one for talking, began to open up.

"Won't they come looking for you? The other bats?" he had asked her.

She didn't answer. She just breathed in and out.

"I'm sorry," he told her. "I shouldn't ... pry."

She smiled, laughing airily. "It's not your fault." A gaze. "You're so eager." Pause. "You're young. I was that way once. I guess ... I still am, in a way. You'll find your confidence," she told him sincerely, meeting his eyes. "It just takes time."

He nodded shyly. Shrugging. Avoiding the mention of confidence, instead saying, "I don't feel young." And he didn't. Not that he felt mature, but ... he always worried, was anxious. Obsessive-compulsive. He had not the personality of youth, aside from an undying naivete and romanticism that leaked out now and then. A repressed curiosity.

"I don't think you know," she told him quietly, "How young you are." She opened her wings a bit, in a shrugging gesture. "But, then, the young never do. Not until they've lost it. And that," she said, nodding. "That's when the disconnect begins."

The squirrel held his bushy, well-groomed tail in his paws. He looked to Akira. She looked to be in her prime. Neither old or young. Did bats even age, he wondered? He assumed she was older than him, but couldn't be sure. She was such a mystery. He was ... fascinated.

She patted a wing on the dying, fading grass. Light filtering, flitting through the leaves. Creating small, shifting pools. "Sit."

He did so. At her side.

"You enjoy being with me," she noted. Her eyes sort of glowed. "I see how your," she said, nodding at him, "Your tail perks."

He blushed. "Well ... "

"I don't mean to question you." Pause. She nodded. She put the end of her pawed wing to his furry chest. "You have a gentle heart." She took a deep breath through the nose. "I've only known you three days, but ... I know as much."

He blushed again. What did one say to such a thing?

"You're the kind that ... you long to love, but ... are afraid to. Am I wrong?" she asked.

He avoided her gaze. Was quiet for a minute. Then shook his head. "No," he mouthed. "I've ... never loved." A pause. "Well ... " He blushed and looked away. "There was someone, but it ... that was complicated."

"I've time ... "

"I fell in love with ... a predator. A cat." Pause. "My family didn't approve." A breath, a turning of the head. "I tried to keep it a secret, but ... "

"What was she? What species?"

The squirrel hesitated.

The bat looked to him.

"Wasn't ... a she," he whispered, and he met her gaze.

Akira said nothing ... for a moment. And then nodded quietly. "That's okay," she whispered.

"You must think I'm ... going to Hell."

"No," she whispered.

"Do you believe in Hell?"

She nodded. "Yes."

They fell into silence.

Azure took a breath and broke it, saying, "But that was ... a while ago. It ... " He went quiet. "So, I guess ... yeah, I've loved." He nodded certainly. "I have loved," he said, eyes distant. As if remembering. As if longing for what was lost. And he blinked. Blinked. Looked to her. "Have you?"

"Not really," she admitted. "Oh, I was paired to someone, but ... I didn't love him. I couldn't go through with it. They shunned me for it. They wouldn't let me look for another pairing. They left the avenue open for me to return to my ... obligation," she said, with a sneer. "But I refused. I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction. So," she said, shrugging her shoulders, "I braved loneliness. At first," she told him, "You cry yourself to sleep. You hug your plush animal to your chest and stare at the ceiling when it's dark." Pause. She laughed quietly. "I had a stuffed squirrel, actually."

"Really?" He smiled shyly.

She nodded. "Uh-huh."

He bit his lip, admitting, "Well, I ... I still sleep with a plush." Pause. "A mouse."

She nodded. "Nothing wrong with that."

"Mother thinks it's childish, or ... something," he said, trailing.

"You get along with your family?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Yeah. I suppose. I mean ... I love them, but we have nothing in common. I'm the odd one out."

She nodded. "I know what you mean." She nodded again, smiling.

He gave a chuckle and looked to the dirt and leaves, pressing his paws into them, making prints.

Akira's gaze turned dull again, as she continued where she'd left off. "But loneliness," she said, "You adapt. In your desperation, you befriend it. You befriend what's torturing you, and ... " She sighed. "It's not so bad. You find ways to occupy yourself. You amuse yourself. You move on," she said. "And it comes to the point," she said, voice at a whisper, "Where you like it. It evolves into a habit, an instinct. A safety mechanism. And you become more and more isolated. Not by effect, as first happened, but by choice." Her voice went barely audible. "It consumes you. Wholly. It becomes you," she said, and she met his eyes. Hers were watered. Shimmering.

He bit his lip, unable to keep his own eyes from watering upon seeing her like this. But it was more than that. He knew the truth of her words. He had felt it. Was feeling it every day. He knew exactly what she was trying to say. And the loneliness was so much worse ... when you had tasted love. When it had touched you ... when you could hear the echoes ... and not find the well.

She coughed, catching her breath. Clearing her throat. "Anyway," she said. "What was I ... oh. Love." Pause. "With bats," she explained, "Love is ... aerial. Acrobatic. It's free-wheeling." Her eyes glinted, but only for a second. They then faded and darted back to his. "It's almost arrogant." She met his eyes. Honest. Open. He couldn't look away.

"Love," she said, sighing. She searched for the words. "It should be wild, you know? Unfettered and free. Not just in form, but in spirit." Pause. "We have good form, us bats, but ... sometimes, I think we've lost our spirits. We've become so lofty, so above ourselves," she said, "That ... well, I don't know. But love," she repeated, "Should be wild. We're all animals, aren't we? You and I are animals, right?"

The squirrel nodded quietly, throat dry. Captivated by her words, by her.

"It should be more. I want to know what it's like. I want to ... know it," she whispered passionately. "I want to be out there, outside myself, outside my skin and fur. I want love to be like robbing life out of the jaws of death."

"Wow," Azure whispered, biting his lip.

She nodded, eyes blank and unblinking. "Yeah," she said, breath shaking.

Neither of them said anything for a moment. The silence filled by the breeze, by rustling leaves. Birds. Small planes. That moment, and those small details, the sounds. The grey streaks in the sky, the dozens of shades of brown on the tree trunks, the dying forget-me-nots ... every scent, everything, in that instant, it all felt like a hundred years of solitude. Only, Azure realized, I'm not here by myself. At least for right now, he realized, he wasn't solitary. He wasn't struggling to get out of himself.

"I wish," Azure told her slowly, breaking the quiet. "I could go back with you. When you go back to the clouds."

She smiled at him. "No, you don't."

He nodded. "I do. I wish I had wings."

She shook her head. "Not if you knew ... the secrets we kept. We are full," she said, spreading her wings to the best of her injured ability, "Of secrets." She lowered her leathery, warm wings. "But you have taken care of me. You've stayed at my side, and ... you have no reason to. You have no reason to trust me." Pause. "I already feel ... "

"What?" he asked, with baited breath.

"We share something. Maybe something ... unseen." She gently clapped her paws together, speaking something in her own, foreign tongue. Then saying in his language, "Connection."

He blushed again. Was quiet for a moment. "How can ... how can you speak my language?" A breath. "You've been doing so the whole time, but I never ... thought anything of it."

"It's an innate ability. I can speak any language after a few seconds of exposure. And we learn them in school, anyway."

"Really?"

She nodded. "Not that I ever get to use such an ability," she said. Almost with resentment. The squirrel didn't push the matter.

Akira sighed, looking skyward, then asked, "How did you get your name?"

He fiddled with his paws. "I was born early," he said, "By two months. I was tiny, naked, and ... blue. Azure."

"Poor thing," she whispered, rubbing her paw and wing-tip against his ears. Then stopping. "You pulled through, though," she declared, sitting back on her haunches. "That counts for a lot, you know?"

He nodded quietly. "Do you mind if I ask," he said, "What it's like up there, in the clouds?"

Her eyes glazed over. "Not the dream you're thinking of." Her eyes regained their focus. "Oh, it's beautiful. It's ... you can't imagine. But it can be so sterile. And you can't grow roots in a cloud. You know?" she said again.

He didn't.

"That's okay," she assured him, moving to a sit. She reached over to nab some of the fruit he's brought to her. For her to eat. Her stomach aching for food, for sustenance. She brought a strawberry to her lips. Licked it.

"We don't have these," she told him, as a falling, orange leaf drifted past her head and to the forest floor. "Up there. I've never tasted anything so refreshingly sweet. Not sickly sweet or a sour-sweet. A cool, gentle sweet." Her teeth bit in. She chewed, and the pale-pink juice ran down her pink chin.

Azure swallowed, throat dry. "Strawberries are my favorite ... fruit," he said.

"You shouldn't be so timid," she told him, eying him. "I mean it. You're such a beautiful squirrel," she said, her voiced aching, trailing. "I wish things had been different."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know." She smiled sadly. "Fate. The circumstances we both find ourselves in ... they don't lend for permanence." She shrugged. She took another strawberry.

He watched her eat. Devastatingly hungry for the fruit, and for her. Her fur was a soft, champagne-pink, her eyes bubbly. She sat upright, legs open, three-toed, clawed foot-paws wriggling ever so subtly. Her form was stout, but had a certain elegance. The wings gave it that. Those wings. Natural givers of flight. Her breasts and belly, her snout and nose, those sharp teeth. Her angled ears.

He couldn't help but notice these things. He felt, somehow, ashamed, like ... like these thoughts weren't pure. They were ... they were swimming into him, through him, and he couldn't stop them. They made his heart beat faster. They made his breath quicken. He felt so distracted. He felt trapped, somehow. Torn.

She laid back, slowly sprawling, half-eaten strawberry between her teeth.

Azure wordlessly, silently crawled to her on all fours, subconsciously having received the invite. Own teeth moving to her mouth, biting gently on the berry, taking it from her mouth. Chewing. Sweet juice dripped to her lips, running down her chin. Gulping down the berry, Azure lapped the juice, lapping her lips. Which resulted into a smoldering, soft ... kiss.

He then panted, pulling away. Wiping his lips with his paws. But her wings went round to his back, keeping him in place. "What's wrong?" she asked him. Gentle, pink eyes peering into him. Showing concern. Pulling him so that their foreheads rested together. Noses together.

"I'm afraid." He bit his tongue. "I don't ... " He struggled to say what he wanted to say. "I want to do this, but ...

"You're afraid of getting hurt again? You're afraid of losing love again?"

He nodded, ashamed. "Yes." Pause. "And of getting caught. If anyone found out ... " He turned away, eyes watering.

"And why does it matter? Why do you care," she asked, "What others think?" She whispered into his ear. "I would not hurt you. Don't you believe me?"

He nodded. "Oh. Oh, I do. I just ... I don't know," he whispered, not wishing to discuss it. "I can't ... keep secrets," he said, "Like you can." Pause. A long pause. His breath shook. "We don't even know each other. I mean, not really. But I feel ... like, somehow, we do. Like it's enough. Like it wouldn't be so wrong." Pause. "I'm just not sure anymore," he admitted to her, "About what I can do, about where I can go. And where I can't."

She nodded. "I understand." Pause. "You don't have to keep secrets, you know," she asked, wings having pulled him down. So that he now lay on top of her. They were still nose to nose. "Do you think I like it? Keeping secrets?"

"I don't know," he said again, eyes darting away from hers, and then back again.

"Well, I don't. Azure," she said, "They eat you away. That's what they do. Just tell me that you will find your confidence. That you will not be embarrassed by yourself or the things you do. That will find some comfort in your skin, in your fur. Be true to yourself," was her advice. The squirrel felt flustered. He didn't even know creatures talked like this anymore. This was ... he shook his head, panting, heart pounding, blood coursing. And he suddenly realized, craning his neck, that the streaks of grey from earlier had turned into a thin layer of clouds, had turned into a chilly drizzle of barely visible, thin drops of rain. Drizzling, drizzling.

The falling drizzle left the bat's pink fur glistening. Like tinsel on a Christmas tree, or something sparkling. And droplets caught on the squirrel's whiskers.

"If only we could get away," she said. "If only we could hide ourselves somewhere."

"Where?" he asked.

"Doesn't matter," she said, shrugging. Hugging him still. Still nose to nose, muzzle to muzzle. "Would you object?"

He opened his mouth to say something.

"Would you leave it all behind?"

He thought a second. Nodded. He believed he would.

"If wishes were horses," she said, and she giggled a bit, leaning her head back, staring straight up through the branches. In the growing cool, her breath showed when she exhaled. She shivered slightly. Azure breathed onto her neck, on top of her. Sharing his body heat. "If wishes were horses," she said again, and thought a moment. "I don't remember the rest of the saying." Her eyes went blank for a moment. "I should remember." She sighed. And smiled at the squirrel.

He squeaked into her ear. "Why," he asked her, "Are you so nice to me? I'm so ... weak."

"Don't ask for a reason. Don't ... don't explain this away," she asked of him.

"I don't understand." He whimpered lightly.

"What? What don't you understand?"

His furry chest heaved. He had no answer.

"If you don't have a clue about life," she told him. Shrugging. "Well ... neither do I."

Somehow, oddly, that was ... reassuring.

The pink-furred bat stopped the squirrel from saying or thinking anything more. Kissing him. Their breaths flared out through their noses, turning to vapor. Both of them wet with drizzle. When the kiss was broken, Azure sat atop her stomach, straddling her. Running his paws along her wings. Ever so softly. Such delicate things, those wings. So unreal. And yet his paws were touching them.

"What's it like? Flying?" He caressed her wings, eyes brimming with an innocence. A curiosity.

She laid back, eyes half-open. "It's like ... controlled falling. In every direction," she whispered. She strained for his tail, dragging it down to her chest, tugging at it. Stroking the fur. Then she wrapped her wings around him again, pulling him back down. Locking his muzzle in a kiss, a wet, heated one. They both shivered slightly, but the shivering soon stopped ... the faster their blood coursed. His eyes fluttered to a close, nose and whiskers trembling.

She grasped his shoulders.

"Open your eyes," she panted. "Open them."

He did so. They were vulnerable eyes. Not used to making contact, and certainly not for extended periods of time. Eyes were the windows to the soul. Eyes were terribly intimate.

"Look into mine," she whispered.

Squeaking, he nodded, swallowing. His throat dry. Staring. For nearly thirty seconds before either of them blinked. The drizzle causing them to blink. And they both allowed their eyes to close, noses nuzzling, still together. She kissed him again, her scent swimming in his nose. He couldn't shake it. Didn't want to. And the both of them simply allowed it to happen, allowed ... it ... losing themselves ...


He stayed with her most of the day, every day. Sometimes, he stayed the nights. They talked. Always. Like two souls floating free in the forest. They always talked. At first, baring their souls, and then ... baring the rest. Azure didn't fight it like the first time. Didn't fight her.

"If they come for me," she told him one evening, taking his head into her paws, touching nose to nose. Looking into his eyes again. Despite his instinctual urge to dart his eyes and break the contact, he did not. He kept with her. "If they come for me, and they will," she said, nodding. "They will. When they do, I don't want you to be near. I can't risk it."

"But what's wrong?" he whimpered. Worried. Confused. "Why won't you tell me? Why?"

She shushed him, whispering into his ear. "Because I can't," she stressed.

"Why?" he asked again.

"Just don't worry," she said sadly, nuzzling his cheek. "It'll be okay," she assured him.


The next day, she was gone. The woods were empty, leaves all fallen. Soggy. They squished under paw, in the mud. Forlorn, Azure sunk against a tree trunk, sliding to the ground. He sobbed.