Winged

~~7~~

"Silva!" He ran up to her, "what happened? You were so close!" He lifted her up. "You nearly made it ove—"

"No, Cyrus, I didn't! I never will!"

"Don't say that."

"I don't know what you see in me, but I can't do it. I won't be able to make it over the ridge and to the mainland across the sea. So stop holding your breath, I can't take it anymore!"
Anger. Pain. Despair was all she felt. Defeat. They were stuck here forever, and there was nothing more she could do about it.

"I believe in you, Silva. I don't know where you've come from, or who the demons were you were running from, but to me, on that stormy night.... You were like an angel, falling from heaven—"

"No.."

"Just trust yourself," he gripped her hands, peering into her almost black eyes. His tall muscular frame dwarfed hers, and she shrank from the intensity in his eyes.

"No! It hurts too much. It's been more than two lunar seasons and I still can't do it."

"You'll get stronger—"

"You have no idea what it's like!" she pulled away, running over the hot sand and throwing herself down beneath a pandanus palm. He didn't know how hard it was, how much pain went radiating from her shoulder blades, tearing at her lungs and threatening to rip her heart apart. Her heart that was just as weak as it had always been. Curse the Change of Heart.

Silent minutes passed. She heard Cyrus' heavy footsteps and even breaths as he came closer, but she ignored him. She didn't look up. She knew deep down he meant well, but he was pushing her too far. If he really wanted off this island, he could find his own way.

She heard him stir the fire. Crackle, pop. She could just imagine the sparks floating upwards on wings of freedom. So different from hers. Then a gentle sigh reached her ears.

She had hurt him, she knew it.
So she rolled over, an apology on the tip of her tongue, silent words waiting to be given a voice.

But he had already turned, heading towards the crashing waves of crystal blue, and was pulling his grey tunic off over his head.

Carved muscles. Smooth tanned skin wrapping around the strength of his core. Shoulders nearly as wide as three of her petite bodies.

Scars. Ugly red marks. Jagged white lines below his neck and between the blades of his shoulders. Broken wings.

She lurched to her feet. Something strange coursed through her body—an emotion so unfamiliar she couldn't name it. But her heart felt it. Such deep sadness at the pain he had obviously endured.

They had hated him too. They had despised the uniqueness that had accompanied his Change of Heart. They had taken away that strength that beat in time with his gentle heart.

"Cyrus, I'm sorr—"

Smash-boooom!

Thunder, stones of fire!

A bright shining sun, but fire raining down around them. Clods of sand spraying into their faces as deadly weapons fell from the peaceful sky.

"Silva, they're here!" he rushed towards her, arms spread wide to protect her.

Her face etched in a frown of shock, the words torn from her throat as screams replaced them. Who was he talking about? What was happening? Why was the peaceful shore being torn and stirred up like a smouldering pit of coals?

Then she saw it.

A vessel. White sails floating above worm-coloured wood. Hatred gleaming in the faces of a dozen men, their fists raised in rebellion.

Fear. Paralysing fear that was so familiar it constricted her throat and smothered her lungs. She couldn't breathe. Those features. Those sinister and twisted eyes that smeared her into the mud with just one agonising look.

"He found me," she choked out as Cyrus blocked a flaming arrow with a shield of leather.

Pax. Her tormentor. Her hater. The initiator of all her misery. He had come to finally destroy her.

"Aauurrghh," Cyrus dropped to his knees. Red blood poured from his thigh, pooling in the muddied sand.
Mud.
Dirt, to life, to dirt again.
Is that all they were destined for?