She had come upon a lonesome isle. Not the larger one, connected to a quiet landmass, but something tiny, floating out in the middle of the ocean and almost shifting in the waves.
Her wings would soon be too wet to fly-- and then, she supposed, she'd have to rest. Moonlight watched her like a cat's wide eyes, and the stars shone uninterrupted.
She thought-- where did she come from? And at once, the thought seemed obvious. She must always have been. And at the start of always, she'd woken up to a distant bird's call.
She felt safe when she heard that lasting shriek. Her home. Her birthplace, if the concept even made sense. Cool air and dewy grass and bird-screeches.
How long had always been? The sun had moved a fair amount, and now only its remnants lit the moon. She wondered if it would return before her patience wore thin.
Blue called at her like lapping waves, like the fur on long limbs. She stretched out and batted the blue, tried to catch the silver stars between her webbed toes-- but felt nothing but air. Maybe it was still, somehow, stars?
If she thought it was, she supposed it could be.
Maybe she was stars. Maybe the dense, blanketing air. Maybe a bird's screech--
She was one of the smaller ones, with a short, square muzzle, short ears and long whiskers.
She settled, brushed the scraping sand into a nest which she combed her fur against-- before closing her eyes and focusing on the tide-- the restless shifting of a lonesome isle.
(Starting to like this character!
Definitely going to continue to write about her here)
