Winged

Chapter 3.

"Watch your tracks, Ev!" A blonde boy, annoyed called after Evan, who was running like a plover, his cheeks pink and flushed and his breath panting from all the running. There had been nearly fifteen minutes since Timothee had forced Hugo to explain everything to him about his accidental arrival at this odd place, and since the moment Timothee had walked outside the 'Nexus' gates, he hadn't stopped marching down a random path he had chosen, with wide, quick struts. Well, even though he wasn't running Evan had to run to keep up with him or even reach him, having a significant height difference between them.

"SORRY!" Evan shouted, his voice horribly cracking as he nearly tripped over himself, without stopping his running. He could see Timothee in a brief distance taking a turn in the left, the dense trees hiding him after the turn, making Evan lose sight of the tall boy. Evan bent over for a moment, a pained expression on his features as he panted, trying to regain his breathing, hands on his knees stabilizing himself. "God it must feel good being tall."

"What is that, Evan? Feeling sorry for our short self are we?" A girl came to a stop next to him. Evan barely rolled his eyes up to her, not even needing to do that to know about the smug grin she had on.

"Sod off, Marls, will you?" He straightened his back, trying to seem as tall as he possibly could, the purple-haired girl next to him shaking her head with a laugh before walking down the paving path that Evan had already crossed. Right behind her, a black cat was closely following, sending a smug look to Evan – as he characteristically thought – wiggling its tale as he passed by him.

"Mangy thing. Go fall into a pond of cold, icy water." Evan mumbled under his breath, narrowing his eyes at the cat. Evan and this cat were probably the worst enemies to have ever existed in 'Bivium'. The girl with the purple hair 'Marls' turned her head to him and sent him a death glare as he mastered the most innocent smile at her.

After his brief encounter with this awful, little thing as he had come to name it, he decided to advance with his course. That little break from running had made him think clearer and had come to the conclusion that with the turn Timothee had taken he could have gone nowhere else than the one and so-called 'Lacus Olorum' which, for the matter, was one of Evan's favorite places in the whole Bivium.

'Lacus Olorum' was literally one of the most beautiful places Timothee had ever seen. It was located deep into the forest the Bivium was surrounded by. You had to get there by a really small and kind of hidden path that was nearly entirely covered by all sorts of plants, and huge trees that their branches were reaching the earth. It was simply majestic. The rays of the sun barely got to make their way past the trees, reflecting upon the plant-covered soil like strands of a goddess's blonde locks. Turns out that this was such a little part of the magic that hid behind it. After the narrow path, there was a clearing where the dense was becoming somewhat both tamed and untamed at the same time. A crystal lake was interrupting the deep greenfield, a stone gazebo with a bench under it, pink and red roses creeping on the seemingly ancient pillars built some meters away from where Timothee was standing.

Timothee had paused for a while, admiring this miracle of nature before him, forgetting all the things he wanted to forget. Right now he would have loved it if it was just him in this place, all alone in peace, with no distractions or anything that would get him even the slightest irritated. He took some hesitant steps forward, searching for something that would get disturbed by his presence in the ground and in a matter of seconds he had reached the shore of the lake.

Looking down at the clear waters, he stared at his blur reflection. How his mousy, wavy hair was carelessly falling over his forehead, highlighting his face bone structure. His pink lips chapped by the cold, matching his pink cheeks. It was kind of cold, indeed, there and the clothes he was wearing were certainly not helping at all. He stared into his eyes at the clone of him that was formed in the lake's surface. The brown color on them, he hated that color. It showed zero emotion, he thought. He had seen people with green and blue and a million different eye colors and each and every one of them portrayed emotions better than his. At times he had even thought that his eyes weren't the problem. The eyes, he had been told, were the mirrors of our souls. Maybe his eyes weren't the problem but his soul was.