Bird Wings

Chapter 10

(Part 2)

Awake was exactly the right word to describe how Wren felt now. She could look back from this perspective and see herself in the past, consciousness floating just below the surface, always stopping just short of real awareness. She used to have short bursts of anxious, painful yearning occasionally before settling back into the way things were. And yet, she'd always known. She'd known just those moments of panic alone couldn't be normal, and there was something else.

When she was around eight years old, her parents had finally indulged her with something she'd wanted for years: a pet. It was a small white bunny somewhat impulsively bought from a trader, and Wren was in love within seconds. Its tiny ears, puff of a tail, the velvet triangle of its nose, this magical little being would surely complete her.

Holding it for the first time was a bit of a shock, she hadn't expected it to feel so solid under the softness of its fur. It didn't sink into her arms the way a stuffed toy would have. It had an angular, structured little body and at a wrong move from her it spiralled in her grasp and kicked strenuously with both hind legs until she jumped back with a screech. This was nothing like what she'd expected from a pet.

Stories described children who had best friends, pets who were more than companions, bonds of loyalty and understanding. Wren had hoped for that, she wanted an animal that could provide comfort but also feel like a friend. So when this rabbit proved to be hardly more than an unpleasant chore - wary from their first encounter, she'd kept her distance until it grew out of any familiarity with people - shame ate into her. She'd failed. Whatever it was inside her that had wanted this wasn't being fulfilled, and whether or not that was her fault she now had responsibility over a life without any affection for it.

She kept this to herself, and pushed thoughts of it out of mind as much as she could. She could not let anyone find out that she didn't know how to love this innocent, vulnerable thing. Her mother mentioned now and then how much she procrastinated its care, weaving in reproofs for neglecting something she'd wanted so badly, and Wren suffered. Something was wrong with her, it had been horribly wrong of her to think she wanted this.

Then one night a fox or some other animal had gotten into the rabbit hutch and carried it away. Everyone was sorry for Wren for losing her pet, she got empathetic comments and special attention. Only she knew the truth, that she didn't even feel sad. Worse, she was very afraid that she may even feel relieved. Cruel! Unfeeling! That rabbit hadn't done anything to deserve being subjected to her. Deeply chagrined, she'd avoided animals ever since.

Remembering this now, Wren felt the closest she'd ever been to forgiving herself for it. Wanting an animal in the first place must have come from that feeling of sleep. There had been a shallowness to her life, even as a child, that couldn't be completely ignored. That little girl had craved depth without knowing how to cultivate it.

That same little girl was watching Wren now, breath held, from her place in the past. She could feel the attention on her; it was what made her thoughts turn to Hawk in spite of herself. How could she fully trust her upbringing while she still carried that old shame with her everywhere she went? The village had always protected her from what she was feeling now, the danger, uncertainty, discomfort, but there was something here on the mountainside that touched close to an old hunger. She was so close, her fingertips were barely brushing against it. Perhaps if she waited another breath or two she'd see it clearly.

***

Back at it again with the flashbacks. I think this is the last one, if I remember correctly.

-Laura