Phoenix Maplewood LII

she follows.

that's what a good daughter does, doesn't she?

surely, there is a spread of hurt through her as walks past the borders and into the lands of the unknown for the first time. sunrise was a homebody, no denying that. she hadn't ventured off like her sister had done, for no voice called to her heart into the great open.

no, there was a sense of duty here. a sense of purpose, a sense of place. she belonged here. but what was here, anyways? tension, and unrest, perhaps. things that could not flourish.

tender kisses are placed upon the shoulder and chin of her parents, not a sense of resentment or hurt in her eyes. no, she'd remain guarded if she had to, to protect her mother and father from the weight of her heart as it sinks below the blood that redtail rise could have very well spilt today.

and longing, her heart calls out to her sister.

precious moon runner, her very own half. where could she have gone?

come back to me, to us. let me be whole again. please.