Migration

I can not help it: the restlessness is in my nature; it agitates me to pain sometimes.
Charlotte Brontë

The sun was shining, the sky azure. A sleepy haze blanketed the peaceful countryside. The long grass swayed in the breeze and the trees along the brook whispered among themselves while the water rolled passed with their continuous laughing as they bubbled over the stones on their way.
The hills were tranquil and quiet, perhaps too quiet. Farron Reve had disappeared. The silence became deafening.

Hudson says that birds feel something akin to pain (and fear) just before migration and that nothing alleviates this feeling except the flight. Perhaps Farron Reve was quite simply a bird. And she was never meant to be caged.