Wheeling Gull Isle i hate the air he breathes

This was Heda's favorite place. The mere thought of her filled him with an emotion he could not name - what he recognized was a tingling in his hands, the vestiges of a shame that came and went.

A slight depression in what he thought of as her lavender fields. Did he recognize the young man that lay supine at its heart?

He approached with light feet. Something familiar in that dark face - a distance to the body, long and teenaged, dense and opaque as igneous rock.

Was that what he, Daniil, had looked like?

What is your- his voice came out hoarse, he cleared his throat, what is your name?

His feathery tail pressed close to his hocks, a weariness suffused him.