❝ Oh, you won't last out here... ❞ Riel kneels to the cries of a hatchling all alone in the dirt, blind and pink and too young for any feathers, its gaping mouth aimed toward an empty, motherless sky. He knows helplessness like this. He has survived it, a fall from the nest—thrust from it not once but twice. And as he scoops the baby bird into his cautious palms, he remembers what it was like to be a creature so fragile. To yearn for life when death is so very near. Riel murmurs a word of healing: the only prayer his God still answers in this foreign world. His hands pass on some much-needed vitality, and the nestling quiets, soothed for the moment. Then, he stands and brings his sights above, knowing its home must not be far. A glance through the branches reveals the bundle of sticks and grass where its siblings softly twitter. If only Riel weren't grounded by his wings, which cannot fly under most circumstances—and certainly not now, when his connection with Uorr is so severed. He considers the height of the tree, as well as the safety of the little passenger in his hands.
❝ I... might be able to climb it without hurting you. I could tuck you into my clothes. ❞
@astralend — starter.
