On wings – my free-writing is probably nudging me back into the world of that unfinished nanwrimo WIP.
Cold licks of wind flicked across Oura’s belly. Behind her, the rustle of wings spreading – muscle and sinew twined with life. They bat against the incoming gale – buffets of air shifting around her. Slowly, they curved around her body – clasped tight. The warmth of them was headier than any other cloak in existence.
Oura stepped away from the cliff, Serii stepped forward, closely shadowed by Tomah. Oura’s wings twitched. Tomah gave her a sidelong look.
*The above writing is copyright of Glaiza Perez. Cannot be reproduced without permission.