Olethros

fifty nine - freyja

My mother flew us at sunrise. I couldn't help the self-pity that devoured me as she did so. What was I if not able to fly? I still had my wings out, but they did nothing. The feeling of them waving helplessly in the wind was excruciating. I was nothing. A failure, damaged.

"We need to walk," my mother panted, dropping us down into the trees again. My knees felt far too weak as she set me down. I'd slept and then was carried off in her arms, my muscles too cold from lack of movement.

Our trudge through the snow and trees was silent. The only sound was the crunch at our boots and the wind dancing high in the thick trees. I felt so angry. We could've been several villages away by now, but I was useless. My mother hardly strained her muscles in the past decades, there was no possibility that she could carry me again today. I could see it in the way she tucked her arms beneath her cloak, gloved fingers working the muscles.

My boot caught on a snow-buried root, making me stumble forward. My hands flew out, catching myself on the rough bark of the pine in front of me. I shoved back, grunting out my frustration.

I'd slept in a world of positivity. I think it had to be seeing Azriel, Cassian, and Rhysand the day before. I dreamt of being in Azriel's arms, his lips on my skin. I dreamt of my mother, brother, and Azriel and Cassian all at a table together, sharing drinks and meals as we laughed. It was of another world that I could not yet feel. Then I awoke to the reality of running from who I was meant to be. Dreaming of that and then walking through a cold forest with my mother was feeding into my already building anger.

"We need sustenance. We should only be about half a day from the next village on foot. We will get ourselves a meal there and continue on," my mother spoke softly from my right. I nodded, tucking my chin into the neck of my coat. With the now cut fabric, the chill was reaching my skin easier. Only half a day. We'd already be there if I could fly.

The walk was torturous. My lack of nutrients from the past weeks had me needing to lean against trees to catch my breath. I'd drop to my knees and place snow on my tongue. My mother, despite her own frail form, was not breathing heavy nor needing to stop to cool her burning muscles. It was yet another reason I felt weak.

The sun was above our heads by the time I smelled chimney smoke. My mother and I shared a look as we walked through a clearing of trees, met with a slanted field of cows. I tried to remember which village it was, which one was of more farming than training, but I could hardly remember which direction we walked in.

My body ached, thighs numb as we walked past the cows and towards a large barn. A winged male was forking hay and throwing it into a wheeled barrel, eyeing us suspiciously.

"What you up here for?" His rasped voice called. I looked to my mother, proud of the way she lifted her chin and folded her hands in front of her.

"My daughter and I are looking for a place to rest and eat a meal. How far is the village?"

The male leaned against the pitchfork, jaw working as he looked us over. I was sure we were a mess. I could tell my hair had fallen from the braid my mother had put it in earlier in the morning.

"Village is down those rocks and past the bend. Where'd you come from?" His eyes moved to me as he gestured to his right.

My mother stiffened, snow creaking beneath her boots.

"My daughter and I are meeting family over East. Her wings have been clipped so we are walking most of our journey," my mother answered tightly. I didn't like how much information she was giving him. He could use it against us. I was powerless while he could do just about anything to us.