Northstar Vale My rusty wings are weak and tired, oh.

She let out a breath at his no-nonsense reply. Towhee knew what he was trying to say: Phox would be there one way or the other. She knew he was able to look at this situation much more objectively, so she decided to trust his judgment where hers was compromised. Besides, wasn’t there some saying about time healing all wounds? Towhee hated it with the fire of a thousand suns but it was also the truth.

I know, she said on an exhale, but I don’t mean assume he’s dead, exactly. I don’t know what I mean. I guess part of me just wants to stop giving a fuck, full stop. Write him off completely. Turn my back on the whole institution. Towhee paused, sagged. That’s a hell of a lot easier said than done, though.

She let gravity take over, sliding forward onto her belly with a grunt which morphed into a sigh. Towhee took a moment to note something with each of her four functioning senses. She could see Phox’s familiar shape, albeit at a weird angle now. She could smell the vague odor of flowers blooming around them. She could feel the tickle of the grass beneath her. She could taste… defeat.

Towhee wondered how her brother did it. He’d lost two mates, just like her. But he was putting himself back out there anyway. Of course, he’d been out of the game for a long time after the shit show with Niamh… but he’d healed, in time. (That fucking saying again.) If Towhee decided to go “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” with Maxim, she absolutely recoiled at the thought of ever trying again with anyone else.

She didn’t mention any of that, just wriggled forward and rested her chin on Phox’s paw with another sigh.