Ebony Wings

20

~Ali~

Our finite days are dwindling faster than we can blink, and what have we to show for it so far?

Nothing.

Nada.

Zilch.

The only small positive I can glean from this situation of increasing disparity, is the fact that I seem to have shaken the watchful eye of any lurking shadows I convinced myself were following me.

It is the morning of our fourth day with Thessaly and just like every other morning, I routinely slip out, undetected if I open the door slow enough, and jog into the snow-blown breeze to watch the sun crest over the endlessly bleak, but undeniably beautiful, Russian mountain range.

A silence unrivalled by any other wraps around me like gauze, as if the mountains themselves catch faraway sounds and smother them in the snow, and the winds pipe through my bones as I watch the metamorphosis from a pastel dawn to a rainbow morning. And like clockwork, as the sun's body comes to crest at the peak of a distant mountain, Thessaly prowls outside, joining me in the muted morning light. She stands beside me for a moment, acknowledging the vastness enveloping this sanctuary, then continues forwards, paws crunching the snow beneath her. Soon her grey and white coat markings camouflage into the white backdrop and her silhouette dissolves into the landscape. Soon after, I return to the warmth of the cave and use the incandescent hearth to chase away the icy breath settled into the lines of my flesh.

My face begins to sting with heat, the icicles of crisp mountain air blown across my fingers prickling my skin as they melt. For a moment the cave is silent around the wheezing fire, the wind a distant whistle swallowed by the stone.

Hours pass, then more hours join the ones passed. We busy ourselves mindlessly, while mostly trying to release our helpless frustration by pacing endlessly.

We did other things too, like play a spot of chess to pass the time, or dapple in a variety of childish 'would you rather...' or 'never have I ever' games in an attempt at light-heartedness.

When Thessaly had still not returned by late evening, I took a pencil to paper and expressed all my darkest, concerning emotions through each flick and drag and stab of the blunt graphite pencil onto the thick parchment. The end result was far from artistic.

The echoing grind of the secret door opening rattles the silent hum of conversation. The faux wall parts and Thessaly throws herself inside. Snow cascades from her shoulders as she shakes off the cold, her face a picture of turbulence and possibility. She leaps across the room faster than we can gather, shaking her sheepskin satchel in the air. In her furor, she does not realise her claws had released themselves, puncturing a hole in the tan leather as she waves it.

"I have news!" Her barbed canines slip past her lips as pants for breath, grinning. "It was a loose lead, but I travelled to a den on the northern boarder of the mountain range. The hideout belonged to another Elder, of whom I had not heard of or seen in many decades. After some tracking, I found his most recent hiding location, a little further into the mountains than he was previously. You want to know the best part?" Her eyes ignite and I bristle in expectancy. "He is the Elder of Historical Relics. The best Elder for information on The Book of Angels."

Thessaly brushes open the flap of her satchel, almost tearing straight through her carefully knotted straps underneath to retrieve its contents.