The Winged

15- The Scouts

The two of us trudged through the flower field. Dry leaves and coarse dirt crunched beneath our feet with every step, crinkly and sharp. Summer was beginning its hold on the forest. Soon, the floor would be littered with dry foliage that couldn't withstand the blare of the raw sun. The ground here— so far from the lake's moisture— would crack and crumble in the feverish temperatures. There would be a fire eventually, big or small, utterly devastating or hardly noticed at all. There was always a fire at some point in the warm season. The forest simply got too dry.
I had seen the flames once before, many years ago. The smell of smoke in the air, a sent so pungent that it was almost aggressive as it scratched your throat and lungs; and the distant glaring of amber and red that crackled mercilessly through everything it touched. I was sure that Az could remember it even more than me, regardless of how many years had passed. We had all lost something in the Blaze, whether it be miles of forest burnt down to ash, trails so old that they were more ancient than I, or in Aspen's case a parent. His father.

I think the saddest thing was that he wasn't the only one. So many people died in that fire... my parents too, supposedly, though I didn't much remember. It wasn't the same for him as it was for me— I never mourned like he did until weeks later, when the rumours about my mother started. And even still... I never had to see my mother in the state that Aspen had seen Aria.
That summer had been a disaster, and it was one I didn't want to recall.

But that was along time ago now, all that. Almost six years had passed. Death and scolding heat wasn't all the new seasons brought. Trees would gain their blooms once more, insects would flourish from the heat, then swarm the air in the coolness of twilight and daybreak, filling the woods with the lazy sound of their buzzing. It would be calm at night. The air would simmer above the treeline, the leaves would cast dancing shadows across the world. Humans would come here but we would be hidden and safe... me and Aspen. Safe in the tribe and and together. But all that was yet to come.

As of now, it was around afternoon, and the air was thick with the smell of pollen. The open air swooshed in a breeze. I thought it smelt of freedom.

Sun occasionally broke through the multicoloured cover of petals above us and and beat down on our heads as Aspen and I walked on. Some of the blooms would survive the heat that was to come, and some would not. Which ones would flourish brighter and which would wilt I hadn't the slightest idea. That was a question for one of the other squadrons. A girl called Everleen was the Captain of some squadron I had forgotten the name of. She was usually the one to deal with the plants around the tribe... she would know about this little patch of flowers. Maybe we could I ask her to check on it. It was almost saddening to imagine that some of the colourful evergreen would vanish in just a few weeks.

"So..." the boy beside me hummed another question after a brief a moment of walking in silence, "You can't fly?"

I was only just getting re-accustomed to hearing the dulcet tone of his voice.
My head shook slowly after a moment's hesitation, "Not right now. When I got stuck in the bag, I was tangled up in a sort of... wire, I think. It hurt my wings, I guess."
He gave a pensive nod, peering at them over his shoulder, then looking back to his own.
I supposed that they didn't look particularly hurt— they still seemed shimmery and unscathed, black at the tips, blood orange underneath, but the dull aching within their folds reminded me they were very much not okay.
"But you managed to fly out of the jar before?" Aspen frowned, "When you were helping that kid?"
Scuffing my heel against a pile of leaves sent their fragments fluttering up around me in a whirlwind as I walked. The willowy shards spun in circles until they dropped back to the floor.
Kid, I smiled to myself. His name is Micah.
"Mm." I agreed. I gave the wings a quick flutter, only for a sharp twang of pain to strike my back. It made me wince, "But I didn't really have a choice. It hurt to fly, and they still hurt now... but they work. I think."
Slower, I opened them, letting the cool air wash over the wings, then shut them carefully. Huh... If I moved them with a little more caution I could barely feel the pain at all.
With a smile, I shrugged, "I think I'll be fine once they heal."
And finally, we emerged at the edge of the forest of flowers.