Dusk

- 7 -

Marinette's P.O.V.

The first thing that came back to me was my sense of smell. 

The air smelled crisp, like I was riding on my bike with my eyes closed; taking in a deep breath through my nose as the air jetted past me.

The second thing was my sight, but with my eyes unopened. When I had shut them, the sun still slightly shone through my eyelid, creating a warm skin tone colored glow. 

Now, they were dark. 

My eyes snapped open and I am met with the same orange tones of the beautiful sky once again. Fear grips me as I swing my head back and forth, nervousness settling on my face. I force myself to take a breath and calm down. The sky still held light and blueness, I had time. I quickly gather my book and pens back into my bag and fold my blanket neatly into the sack. I sling it over my shoulder and the voice that told me to sneak out in the first place returns. 

Would it hurt to simply take a quick look at the birds? Surely not. 

Just a quick peek and I'd return home.

I nod my head and take in a breath of courage. Maybe being dressed as a man gave me courage? That truly is silly, many men have died at the edge of the wood as well.

If anyone saw me, they would intensely question my motives. Imagine seeing someone walk towards the forest as the sun fell from the sky. Honestly, I am questioning myself as well. 

Taking bold steps towards the edge, I scan the forest line for the small gap in trees where the little family had been growing. I feel my heartbeat in my chest as I breath in through my nose, and out through my mouth. I tug up my hood around my face and clench my jaw as I step foot into the darkening green. 

Wind whispers by me; it runs its fingers into my hood and my ears grow cold. And, it is strangely quiet. The near silence makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up under the cloak. I wrap my arms around myself and purse my lips as I halt.

I debate turning back, but I suddenly hear quiet chirping. Without another thought, the sides of my lips pull into a smile. Uncrossing my arms, I trek a few more steps into the woods as it becomes darker as darker. Not because of the fading sky, but because of the thick green leaves obstructing the dwindling sun beams.

I finally lay eyes on the nest. Leaning on the big neighboring tree for support, I stand on my tip toes and look into the hollow tree. Safely and surely, the four powder blue eggs once spotted with freckles were cracked open, one even ending up at the inside base of the tree. In their place lay four small little animals, no feathers and eyes still closed. My breath slightly fans across them and they come alive, chirping and wiggling around. My eyes widen and I breathe a breathless giggle. I know I won't ever be able to touch or pet them, but seeing them was enough. 

Life has always been so beautiful. The way the sun rises every morning and how it sets every night. How rain clouds just appear, shed their tears, then fade away. How plants grow, and how the vines curl up around thick wire and bear colorful, juicy fruit. The art of creation amazes me, my mother never let up on showing me as much of the world as she could. The strolls we would take would be filled with other worldly talk, while other mothers taught their daughters how to be a good wife and find a husband, she taught me how to sew together flowers to make a flower crown; telling me all little girls were princesses no matter who they were. Now I'm not saying she removed herself completely from other talk; she taught me how to be respectful and introduced me into the art of sewing and tailoring clothes, that of which I now love. But those lessons were learnt on a blanket on the soft ground of this meadow, surrounded by buzzing bees and singing birds.