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I cast eye from the shore over the seas.. I can reach the island in flight, but time in form is precious and cannot be wasted. I cast my wings and make a pull to be in the air. Wind catches under me and brings me to levels I can soar and cruise overseas with ease. It is exhilarating, a rush. I reach the shores of the island with some time before I drop to human feet. Welcomed to the hustle of the island by the locals, offerings of fresh fruit, sitting with them a while as they tell their stories of the busy days they've had. A small group take to showing me further shores of the island, little coves no one really ventures to. I stay behind when they make their way home; enamoured by the sun setting across the water. A day of good rest, I have forgotten all woes... The Whistle shatters through me; piercing, powerful and precise. Panic and curses rise into my throat. I have no energy to cast to raven yet, and as one flies the journey is not long but on foot I am a way from home; the sun has almost set on this day. I head to the homesteads of the sailors, their boats are docked for the night and no coin nor plea nor treasure will persuade them otherwise. "Rest at our inn", they say...despair. The inn keeper is welcoming but I do not sleep well, I am late. Very, very late. Restless, anxious. I drift in and out of slumber, snapping awake frequently to look at the movement of the skies to decipher the time... I rouse from sleep once more as I get the feeling of being watched, I jerk to sit upright and open my eyes. A familiar messenger sits with another parchment at the foot of my bed, their eyes are wide, feathers glossier than mine, well kept and blessed. I take the letter with a nod, before the realisation hits me again. I'm late. I stuff the unopened scroll into my blouse, moving quickly out of bed, gathering all scattered belongings from the room, fumbling them into my bag and pockets. I say my farewells to the inn-keeper, rushing out the door in direction of the shores. Raven blessings of energy again for casting form to fly the seas before reaching homelands. There is a fair way to go once my human feet hit the shores of my kin but there is a way to make it. Run. The beat of my heart and the echo of my thumping steps come to rhythm as I push through the physical and mental pain. I am tired, recent battle scars still healing, my feet cut more than usual at wild rock, skidding and losing my place several times, the integrity of my step weakened by my desperation to be faster. I trip and fall to my knees, again... the final wooden bridge, home landmarks in sight, I forget the soaking of rain to the wood of the bridge and slip a final time. A roar, the pain is the blow that makes me lose it. Nearing my limits as I get up, my chest heaves to catch air quickly, shaking with the energy that courses. Stepping through the last trees, into the stream my feet sting with relief of the cleanse. My eyes dart, scanning. Nowhere to be found. I curse myself. There will be a price to pay for that. I sit and slump at my favoured tree and continue to catch my breath. A different panic hits me, the letter. A jolt to sit upright. The letter holds the brunt of the weather, pure rain throughout the journey, paired with my carelessness, I feel pangs of guilt and shame. The message still is clear, the question still sharp as a hit in my chest. Disappointment? My failures. I did not deliver. Reflect. Make change. Focus. >>Ri | |