ᚠᚢᚱᛁ · ᛈᚱᛖᛁᚲᛋ · ᛈᚨᚾᛁ · ᚷᛚᛁᛗᚨᛏᛟ
In the hush between waking and the first breath of dawn, she appeared — small, solemn, and glowing like a thought half-remembered. Her wings caught the faintest pulse of amber light, as if the forest itself had exhaled her into being. I didn’t ask her to stay. None of them ever do. For a brief second she posed, the weight of centuries resting behind her eyes, and the air around her trembled with recognition — the kind that happens when a dream realizes it’s being watched. Then she was gone, fading into the green quiet that always takes them back. Even now, I can still feel the echo of her presence, sleeping somewhere beneath the moss.
