Wapun Meadow But before I can fly up

AW

the morning hush was her favorite song.
eulie dawn moved like mist over grass, paws soft and steady, stirring dew but never stealing it. the sky was brushed in lavender and gold, the world still caught between dreaming and waking. her favorite place to be—between things. not quite this, not quite that. a little like her.
she hummed something tuneless as she walked, a lilting thing her mother once sang. or maybe she'd made it up—she could never remember. the covey didn’t mind. they said songs belonged to whoever needed them most.