The Theory of Flight

The Theory of Flight

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WpMetadataNoticeLast published Sun, May 30, 2010
I look down and there she is her soft feathers stick against my sweaty palms. She dips down out of the clouds and dives gracefully towards the ground. We're going so fast it's a miracle we don't burst into flames. The wind beats hard in my face so I tuck my head into Soara's feathers and adjust my hold.
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“This is bad . . .” she muttered almost incomprehensively. I must have heard but didn’t actually listen. I tucked her hair behind her ear anyway. I really should have removed my hand. She shouldn’t have looked up with that pretty face of hers. For a moment I searched her eyes and she did mine. She’s not flinching or cursing or complaining. This is a huge improvement. I played with her braid, my eyes still searching her. I really should move back. I really should. . . Oh fuck this. With a light pull of her braid, I kissed her.

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