Theia

Theia remembers waking up at the Cloudswept Terrace, but nothing before.

She gets flashes, sometimes, like dreams or nightmares of ice and freezing winds, ripping through her wings and tangling her feathers until she plummets like a rock through sheets like glass into the churning depths below. Sofin has assured her that these are little more than fears, having known nothing but the warm sun and soft grasses of the terrace, but it seems like the chill is as deep in her bones as her very soul.

So perhaps this is why she spends every waking moment outside, spending her time meticulously cataloging the flora and fauna of the terrace, creating drawings and indexes the likes of which have never existed in the clan up to now. She took her position of leader of her breed despite the fact that her mate, Anshar, had been there before her. She chooses her words carefully and never flinches when Thirania is snapping in her face, nor loses her temper or speaks ill of any of her fellow clansmembers. She revels in the flowers and sketches on the roof of her home in the sun, and tries to ignore how as soon as the sun dips behind the mountains, it feels like she can’t get warm.

“I get them too,” Anshar confessed one night as she huddled under his wings for warmth. “The flashes. But instead of cold, I feel like my bones are shrinking, as if they’re being forced into a bag they simply cannot fit into, and they’re fit to burst through my skin at any moment.”

It made her shudder and tuck her nose under his chin. “It has to mean something.”

And indeed it does, but only Delphine knows, and she’s not talking.