Winged

~~6~~

"No, wait," his voice of masculinity reached around her, confusing her further. Footsteps crashed closer. "I'm the one who's sorry. I didn't mean—I thought you were one of them..." he blocked her path, his towering figure throwing shadows on the trees around her, a hundred ghosts come to haunt her soul. "You're hurt. Let me help you."

She stared at the hand he offered. Large, calloused...scarred. Her heavy breathing echoed between them, thunder rumbling as background chorus to her racing thoughts. She was cornered; nowhere else to go. Did she expect anything more? Someone less intimidating?

No choice. Survival instinct.

She lifted her tiny hand and placed her fingers in his.
Sparks. Electricity racing up her arm. A warmth that clawed it's way to her very heart, her new heart. The gasp that left her lips matched the flame of light dancing in his eyes, the frown disappearing between them.

He led her to shelter, a dry warmth around a glowing fire, embers and logs pulsing with heat amidst the cold fingers of ice and wind. He wrapped her bleeding wounds and throbbing limbs, taking care not to touch her trembling and aching wings. His gentle hands matched the tenderness in his blue eyes, and Silva was falling once again—falling in peace, in rest, in security.

"Why?" was all she could ask. Who was he, why was he here on this island all alone, and why was he caring for her?

His tanned cheek creased in a small grin. "I'm Cyrus. This oasis in the wild sea has been my home for 5 solar seasons. Your the first real soul I've seen in all that time."

She raised her eyebrows in wonderment. He was lost, just like her.
~~~

Morning sunshine kissed her skin, illuminating the shadowed tones and fading bruises. Her skin the colour of cacao beans, an exotic fruit from far away countries, as Cyrus more than once mentioned to her. The ocean breeze caressed her tight curls of hair, sand wiggling it's way to her scalp but she didn't mind. Anything was better than mud.

Cyrus smiled over the fire and roasting fish. "You ready?"

She groaned, rolling her shoulders and stretching her wings. "You think I am, so my opinion doesn't matter."

He'd been teaching her. Training her to recognise her wings as another beautiful appendage, like her arms or legs. He was helping her to fly.
The mainland sat not a hundred fathoms east of their island prison.

"Of course it does, Silvana. You need to feel it. You need to hear your heartbeat and soar in tune with the melody of its rhythm."
His poetic words fluttered in the warm shifts of air, ruffling her feathers and urging her to close her eyes and really feel the currents. The currents of air that lifted her wings, lifted her to new heights.

She opened her eyes and saw the mountain range looming ahead, the green palms and emerald pines reaching for her. She listened to her heart and felt the blood and impulses pumping with strength and surety. She could do this. She could rise above.

"I can tell you were born to fly."
Cyrus' kind words echoed in her thoughts.
Maybe she was, but not in this way. Not with large, thick, black, hideous wings. Not with ugly words and insults following her, dragging behind her like the object of their intentions. She was Changed, yes. Changed from a worm to a demon. She could believe nothing else.

A rocky peak clipped her belly, scraping her legs. She jerked away and spiralled out of control.
Down.
Falling down, like a burning star, like the wounded animal she was.
The soft sand cradled her, whispering secrets of failure and hopelessness as she thudded against it, pain once again ricocheting through her delicate body. She would never make it over the mountains, no matter what Cyrus said.