In the Pale Moonlight
They were quiet this time. As they walked. They whispered to each other, had some hushed conversations, but they were careful to stay in the shadows. Out of the pale moonlight. Though, every few steps, one of them would step into it. By accident. Or not. Illuminated with an ethereal, milky-white glow. But the moon was only a sliver, a crescent.
"I like it best," Azure said softly, looking down at his foot-paws as he walked. And then looking ahead of them, and then back up to the sky. Which was fragmented by all the branches of all the trees. "The moon, I mean. When it's like this. It looks exotic. Alien."
"I never thought of it like that," she whispered, breathing a cool breath in through the nose.
"Like it's falling out of our universe, but hanging by a thread. Peeking down at us. It hopes," he said, smiling, voice betraying his innocence. Some kind of naive romanticism. "It hopes we won't notice it. It's a tease, the moon is."
Akira grinned. Listening to him.
He swallowed and sniffed. "You think we've run out of things to talk about," he asked her, "When I start giving the moon a personality?"
She laughed, unable to help herself. She muffled her mouth with her wings, and then let her wings fall aside. "I just think you're cute," was all she said.
He blushed beneath his fur. Still self-conscious, as much as he wanted to think he'd gotten over it. Still shy.
More seriously, Akira added, "But, no, I don't," she said, shivering beneath her pink fur. "I don't think we've run out of things to talk about. Between us, we have countless memories and countless dreams, and there's a whole world out there," she said, and then laughed. "I know that sounds ... lame," she said.
He smiled, biting his lip.
They continued walking side by side. Slowly. Almost at a saunter, like they were out for a lazy, midnight stroll.
"Why won't they leave you alone?" he asked her. "Why won't they let you leave?"
She took in a deep breath, let it out. A sigh. "Well, if I leave, if I get away ... others might do the same. Our society would be revealed to the world. We would be forced to live real lives. They're scared," she whispered. Pause. "I can't say I entirely blame them, but ... I had to go. I had to leave. And though it pains me to think," she said, shaking her head, "To think that I might never see my home again, the place of my birth ... " She trailed. "I had to grow up," she whispered simply. Shrugging her shoulders and wings.
He nodded.
"But, Azure," she said honestly, very quiet. So that he had to lean close to hear her. "If I hadn't met you ... if you hadn't rescued me after my fall, I don't ... " She sighed and breathed deeply. "I don't know if I would've had the motivation to leave the second time. After they'd caught me and brought me back. I just," she said, struggling for the words. "You pushed me over the edge," she said, allowing a smile to creep back to her face.
He laughed, ear-tips still burning cold. Breath showing as he exhaled. "Well, I guess that's a compliment."
"I guess so," she said slowly, still smiling. She walked right beside him, wings wrapped around her form again. Bumping into his arm every few steps.
More walking.
The squirrel's nose and whiskers twitched, cold. But in perfect working order. He sniffed the air. "You notice how, in autumn, things are ... they smell bold. Crisp," he said.
"I hadn't noticed," she said. "We don't have trees in the clouds," she said.
"No trees," he whispered, not able to conceive it. "I was born," he said, "In a tree."
"Really?"
He shrugged. "I'm a squirrel."
"That you are," she whispered.
"I know it sounds strange, but walking here, on the ground, I feel exposed. Whenever I look at a tree, it makes me think of ... safety. A harbor."
"The tree is your cloud. My cloud is your tree."
He looked to her.
"Each is a harbor. Each is different. Each a home."
"I suppose," he whispered.
She smiled and shook her head. "I'm not making any sense."
"No, I get it," he assured her.
"Well, I'm glad someone gets me," she said, running her tongue along her sharp teeth.
"Well, I'm always afraid no one gets me, you know," he told her. "Like, I don't think ... I can ever connect."
"I think you can," she told him, with a serious confidence. "I think you underestimate yourself. Undervalue," she said, "Yourself. Constantly." Pause. "Anyway, I've told you that before."
He didn't know how to defend against that. He supposed it was true. "Anyway," he said, finishing the topic. "Here we are, getting each other."
She laughed at that.
"What?"
"It just ... that just sounds funny."
He nodded, smiling. And then shaking his head and laughing. Eventually, they settled down. Continuing their walk.
After a few moments of silence, the only sounds being their foot-paws stepping, scuffling, snapping twigs and sinking into fallen leaves, they entered an area where the trees were getting sparser.
"Another day," he whispered to her, certain of it. "Maybe two."
"And we'll in the open," she said, nodding, catching on. "Yeah," she whispered.
"I've never seen it before."
She nodded.
"No trees, no ... the trees just stop. That's what they say. They say grass goes on forever. And gentle hills. In the winter, it's barren and harsh. And windy. In the spring summer, there are wild-flowers."
"I don't understand," she said, frowning, "How come you've never been outside the woods? Or any other squirrel or creature? You would think various individuals would venture out and ... "
He grew a bit pale as she went, and she trailed to a stop. "What?"
"There's a reason," he said, "No one leaves the woods."
"Oh," she breathed, heart sinking. "I'm not going to like this," she realized.
"They say that, in the ground, there are burrows. Dens. Holes that open and go into the ground, like ... like tunnels."
"So?"
"Snakes."
"Snakes?" she asked, raising her brow.
"So they say."
"Wait a minute. Wait a minute," she said, stopping them. They both halted. She looked up to him, and into his eyes. "Who is 'they?'"
"The creatures who survived the trips out of the forest. The ones who ... " He shrugged. "It's just what we're told."
"Azure, I cannot believe," she said, looking around (suddenly paranoid), "That no one ever leaves this forest! In hundreds of years," she said. "This forest is big," she said, nodding, "But not that big."
"Well, your species never leaves that, that," he stuttered. "That cloud," he told her. "Same thing."
She had no response. He was right. She sank a bit, eyes distant. She went to a tree-trunk and leaned against it. "Fear," she whispered.
His ears perked.
She locked eyes with him, in the dark. In the pale moonlight. "Fear, Azure," she said, her tone revelatory.
He waited for more, waited for some speech, some ... something. But she said nothing more. She just left it at that. That was all there was to say.
"Well, maybe it's just," he said, fidgeting, "Rumors. About the snakes."
She nodded, clearing her throat. "I'm sure that's what it is." Pause. "Anyway," she said, "If the snakes all lived out there and all the other animals all lived in here, what do the snakes live on? What do they eat?"
He shrugged.
She nodded. "Exactly."
"Look, even if there weren't rumors and old tales," he told her, "No one has ever had any reason to leave the forest. Our population is always stable. It never swells, you know, and ... there's nothing out there. There is nothing," he stressed, "Out there. It's some borderland between here and the mountains and the sea. Some vast distance."
She nodded. "I've seen it," she said. "From up there," she said, nodding to the sky. "It goes on forever."
She wasn't joking.
He sighed.
She stood there, shivering. Neither of them moved.
"Look," he pleaded. "How about we not ... we not think," he said, trying to spit out the words, "About anything We just do it. I mean, we're starting to over-analyze everything, you know? We need to just ... just be," he stressed. Flustered.
"You're right," she whispered. Nodding. But feeling a bit off. Why? Why was she feeling ... she turned around, scanning her surroundings. "Stand back," she said.
"What's wrong?" He nearly whimpered as he spoke it. His nose could almost detect her growing anxiety, and it lit his.
"I don't know." She took a deep breath and fired off a series of chittering echo-location bursts. After a moment, ears swivelling, she said, "We're alone." She nodded, swallowing. "It's okay."
"It's too dark," Azure whispered. "I don't ... I don't like it. I mean ... "
"Azure, please," she said, putting a wing to his chest.
He steadied his breathing. "You're a creature of the night," he told her. "I'm ... I'm not. I don't ... I can't see, I can't ... "
"Azure, listen, clamp down."
He looked to her. His eyes were scared. Darting.
"You're letting your prey instincts slip out. Clamp them down. Keep them in."
He nodded, breathing heavily through the nose. After a minute or so, he calmed down, and he wearily found a tree-trunk to lean against. He slunk to a sit. He opened his mouth to apologize to her, but stopped when she saw his look. And remembered he wasn't supposed to be apologizing.
"We're both tired," she said. "That's our problem. We're tired," she said, her eyes aching. "And we're hungry." She swallowed. "Tired, hungry, and ... paranoid." She looked around. Fearing the hunting party would swoop down at any moment, any time. "We're not at our peaks," she decided.
"No," he whispered silently, pitifully. He shook his head. "But we have to keep going, right?"
She sighed, nodding slowly. "We don't have a choice." Her eyes settled on some pine needles caught in one of the moon's tendrils. She thought of the fireflies back in Azure's room. She thought of the feel of cloud under paw. She scolded herself, and berated herself aloud with, "It's ironic, you know?"
"What?" Azure asked, confused.
"I'm a creature born of the air. Flesh and blood and flight. I can fly," she stressed, "And I feel trapped."
The squirrel shook his head. "What are you ... what are you saying?" He looked hurt.
The bat softened. "No, no, Azure. No," she said, kneeling down, breathing against his nose. "No, not by you. Not by this place, even." She looked around. "I'm trapped by my own heritage, my own history. I try to slip away, and they come after me. Physically. And I fear," she said, "So much. So very much. So many," she whispered, "Things. Mentally. I'm trapped," she said, and she shook her head. "But ... but how? That doesn't feel right."
"I thought we were gonna stop over-analyzing things," he said, the fear showing in his voice. A quiver. He was afraid they wouldn't get out of this. He was afraid they would be caught. Hurt. Killed. He was afraid that something would happen to her, to Akira. His ... his bat. What if ... he was afraid his family would worry over his being gone. That, if we returned one day, they would never forgive him. He was afraid that he would become a burden upon Akira when his hibernation hit. He was afraid he would fall into a deep sleep and dream eternal nightmares. Hunted, hunted, stalked, killed in his sleep. Unable to wake. He was afraid he was killing himself from lack of food, from his tics, his obsessions, his ...
"Azure," she said, worried.
"What?" he asked, jerking. "What?"
"You ... you weren't responding to me." Her eyes showed fear. "Like you were lost for a moment."
He shuddered. "I don't ... I don't know." He clutched at her.
Her shaky breath went into his ear as she said, "It's okay." She looked around, mouthing, "It's okay." Pause. She looked around some more. "Azure," she said.
"What?" he whimpered, clutching at her wings and fur. Like a baby squirrel.
"There's something spooky about these ... this part of the forest."
He swallowed and nodded.
"Maybe that's why creatures stay in. Maybe," she said, voice eerie, but deadly serious, "The forest won't let them leave."
"What?" he asked, voice rising, a bit scared. A bit incredulous.
"I don't know," she whispered, breath showing in the air. "I just ... " She shivered. "I don't want to know," she decided.
"Neither do I," he emphasized, standing. "Let's just keep going. We need to get out of here."
She nodded, firing off an echo-location burst into the night. She stood stone-still and looked into the tree-marked dark.
"I think," Azure said, "We might be lost." His voice sounded small.
"Lost," she echoed. She opened her carnation-pink wings, spread them. And let them fall to her sides. She nodded and looked to him. He held his bushy, brown tail in his paws.
Azure spoke up, saying, "Well ... we can't be lost, though. We've been going west the entire time, right?"
She nodded.
"That's the closest way out from where we started."
She nodded. She looked to him.
"What?"
"Your stomach's growling."
He blushed, looked away. "I'm fine."
"You don't have the backpack," she said, a sudden rise in her voice.
"What?" he looked about. It wasn't on his back. It wasn't ...
"I don't remember you taking it off."
"Neither do I," he said, meeting her eyes again.
She rubbed her forehead with her wing-paws, lowering her head. Her muzzle open, teeth showing. Fangs. Eyes closed. Held her breath. And then breathed out and in. "Alright," she said, looking back up to him, eyes tired. Elegant, stout form sagging. "Alright, let's ... let's keep going. I don't know of anyplace we can stop. Do you?"
"Past few hours, all I've seen is trees and dirt. We left the caves and creek behind."
She nodded. Strained. Her expression was getting more tired.
"We need to rest," Azure realized.
Her eyes watered. "They'll find us. If we stop," she said, keeping the tears at bay, "They will find us. Just like last time."
"Akira," he said, just saying her name. Nothing else. Letting out a breath.
She looked to him. "Are you afraid of the dark?" she asked him. Honestly.
He nodded, biting his lip.
"That's okay," she said.
"Not so much when I'm with you," he told her.
She had to smile. She took in a breath. "That was sweet."
He blushed, shrugged. Looked upward, craning neck to see the crescent moon.
"I guess we sleep," she said, "Here." Pause. She looked stricken. "And hope we aren't killed in our slumber. Or eaten," she added darkly.
He looked to her.
"Not that I'm trying to be pessimistic or anything."
"No," he whispered.
"Well, let's try and find some cover, anyway," she said.
So, they walked around some more. A bit more. And found a sort of drop, a fallen tree trunk, a shallow hole. And they settled in.
"How are we, uh, gonna do this?" Azure asked her.
"Keep warm, you mean?"
He nodded.
"I want your tail."
He laughed.
"I want it," she said forcefully, biting back her smile.
He nodded. "Okay."
"I want your wings, then," he told her. "As compensation."
She pretended to consider. "Agreed." She turned and opened her wings, and the squirrel wormed under them, between the wings and her. The wings holding his tail, which she spread over the both of them. And they laid there. Staring upward. Through the trees. At the pale moonlight, once more.
She turned and leaned to him. Kissing him gingerly on the cheek. "'Night," she whispered to him. Tender.
His paw ran the length of her wings. Slowly. He sighed. "Goodnight," he whispered back. Eyes watered. Whether from the cold or from something else, Akira wasn't sure.
Nuzzled and tangled together, shivering and sharing their warmth and fur, they slept under the moon's watch.
"You asleep?" she whispered. An hour later. Feeling torpid, weak.
"No," he whimpered miserably, shivering into her. Whimpering again. Whiskers drooping.
She sniffed, blowing out a nebulous breath. "Me neither."
Pause.
"It's so quiet," she whispered, clutching his tail. Clutching.
"In the, uh, summer, and even the spring," Azure said, coughing. Swallowing. "It's never quiet like this. Always," he remembered, "The night bugs and frogs. The mockingbird." He nuzzled his nose into the fur on her wings, her side.
Another pause.
"Nights at home," she said, "For me, are a whispering quiet. It's never completely still. Not," she said, "Entirely." Her ears were burning worse than before. Bitten. "I can't," she said after a moment, dully, "Feel my ears."
Wordlessly, slowly, Azure guided her to a sit, sitting right behind her. He allowed his paws to rove to her ears. Massaging. Rubbing. He wrapped his tail around her front.
She closed her eyes. Took a deep breath. Let it out. While the squirrel warmed her ears, even breathing into them (which gave her a warm, weak shudder), she said, "It does feel more ... real. The cold. It bites you."
Azure nodded.
She tilted her head as he exhaled into her right ear. Her eyes fluttered, darting upward. To the sky. Through the tree limbs.
"The moon," she noticed. "It's gone." And answering herself, realized, "It must've set."
Azure's paws were on her neck now, in the dark, kneading her stiffening muscles. She sighed, chittered for a second, and sank back against him. Tilting her head and burying her muzzle into his chest-fur. He had a simple, earthy scent, his fur ...
"Azure."
"Mm?" he went.
She blew out a breath. Her breathing notching in intensity. She opened her mouth to say more, but only air, as vapor, made it out.
They awoke tangled, curled together. Fur and limb, tail and wing. Not as cold as before. And with the sun up, and light having returned, there was a semblance of warmth in the air. If even a pale one.
Feeling weak from lack of food (they hadn't found the backpack, and there wasn't much to be harvested this late in the year), Akira maneuvered to a creaky sit, stretching her wings. Sighing. Letting them fall.
"We're gonna have to move in daylight," she said, "Even if we're easy targets."
The squirrel nodded. Still lying down.
The bat sighed again. Not out of frustration, but just ... as a reflex. An early, waking reaction. Wanting sleep and consciousness at the same time, and not able to mix them. Morning sun hit her fur generously, brightly. A soft, utterly feminine pink, like a wildflower's color.
She looked down to find Azure staring at her.
"Come on, sleepy-tail," she said with a repressed smile, gently tugging his tail.
The trees did begin to thin out. And more and more as they went, as the hours passed. Azure nibbled on some acorns he'd found.
"Want some?" he offered.
"Well, considering the lack of anything else, I don't," she said, shrugging, "Have much a choice." She took one.
They walked and nibbled.
He looked to her. Wanting her opinion of the food.
"It's okay," she said honestly. "I would prefer a beetle," she said, feeling more hungry now. Sounding a tad desperate. "A big beetle, small beetle, any kind of beetle."
"Um, I don't," the squirrel said, not knowing what else to say, "Don't have any beetles."
She grinned at him. "Why do you always nibble, again? You should be scarfing those things down."
"Then I wouldn't taste them," he defended.
"Mm." She nodded, brushing up beside him as they walked.
"I suppose we could move faster, if we really tried," he said. "I mean ... we're not exactly rushing ourselves." They were moving, if anything, at a mosey.
"I'm too tired to fly through such," she said, craning her neck, "Close quarters. I prefer flying in the open." Even though the trees weren't as densely packed, they were still close enough to prohibit fast flying. Or, at least, safe flying.
"Well, I can hop from limb to limb, you know. I don't have to travel by ground, either."
"I know."
"Well, I just wanna get out of here, is what I'm saying. I'm ... " He paused, breath shaky. "But ... you're right," he breathed. He didn't feel like rushing, either.
She nodded. Knowing his body was coursing with a repressed anxiety. That it was clawing his insides. Her own fear wasn't as primal, but ... she knew fear, all the same.
"This thing," she said.
"Acorn."
"This acorn leaves a taste in my mouth." She smacked her lips a bit.
"I like it."
"Well, of course you do, but ... " She made a face. "I don't know."
"I love cracking through the shells," he said, with almost child-like innocence. "You bite, bite ... and then you crack it, and it all splinters and falls away, and it's like some kind of treasure's inside. For your trouble."
She smiled warmly, turning an acorn (he gave her another) over in her wing-paw. "That's a really nice way of looking at things," she said, and her gaze turned to him. "Really."
He blushed and shrugged.
She turned her attention back to the acorn she held, and she used her fangs to puncture the shell. Nibble. Cracking, cracking the shell, and she tossed and blew it all away, leaving the meat, the seed from inside. Resting in her wing-paw. She took a nibble, considering.
"Well," she said. "I still think it tastes funny."
He laughed lightly, biting his lip. Nodding. "Well, I would imagine beetles would taste funny, too."
"Well, I wouldn't say that until you've tried one."
He made a face, shook his head. "I think I'll ... leave them for you."
She grinned. "Where's your sense of adventure?"
"I don't know," he said, "But it's not with the beetles."
She nodded. "Your loss, then," she said, smiling and tilting her head. "Mind you," she added, for the sake of the conversation. And because she enjoyed prodding him with this. "There are some bugs I won't eat."
"Like?"
"Fireflies. Ladybugs. They have implied immunity."
"Glad to know."
They walked some more. Walked, walked. Moved. Well until past noon, stopping to rest and sit here and there. But, generally, staying in motion. And they could sense they were getting closer to the very edge. The edge of the forest.
"I can smell the air," Azure said, sniffing, nose and whiskers twitching. "Like, it smells different. Like the land is different."
"Open land. Grassland. The wind carries down from the distant mountains."
He shrugged. "I don't know, but ... it smells like a frontier."
"Frontier," she whispered, echoing him. Trying out the word on her tongue. The word had such a romantic connotation, such a larger-than-life promise. It was a fulfilling word. It was so much larger than itself. "Frontier," she said again, nodding. Unable to fight off a smile. "That sounds nice." She took a deep, deep breath, spreading her wings for a moment, letting them fall back down. She looked to him, a bit more seriously.
"What?" he asked, with a hint of concern.
"Last night," she said, "We were scared out of our minds. At least I was."
"Well, I was," he admitted, "Too."
"Now, right now," she said, "I just feel so light, and things feel so ... romantic." She sighed. "How can," she wondered. "I mean, how can one's mood change with the hours? How can emotions melt into each other and back again so quickly, so unpredictably? There's just no," she said, with a sense of discovery, "Pattern to it. No sense of logic. It's ... so addicting." Pause. "I mean, I've always known emotions are ... complex. I've always known this, but you don't really think about it, you know?"
He nodded.
"That feelings can be so ... " She shrugged, not able to find the word. "That life can be so full of shade and color. That things, anything," she said, eyes wide, "Can happen."
Azure couldn't help but smile. Her sudden, life-affirming burst was just ... contagious. "Well, maybe," he offered, "The pattern to emotions, the pattern to life ... "
"Yes?"
"Is that there is no pattern."
She smiled, and then laughed. "That is profound," she stated.
"I try."
She laughed again, walking closer with him. Leaning her head on his shoulder. She wrapped a wing around him, sighing. Sniffing the air. She could smell him, his scent, and the cold chill in the air, all the trees. And the clearing up there. Some kind of huge clearing. The plains. Frontier. The smell of frontier. So close, so close to freedom. Perhaps. Or maybe not. One just didn't know. And that was part of the intoxication.
And on and on they moved, weak and weary, but somehow, in the end of it all, not minding so much. Both feeling like they'd come so very far. In more than a few ways, in so short a time, even. It was just ... a feeling.
Late afternoon. And they were there.
Azure paused, took a deep, deep breath through the nose. And let it out. It showed slightly in the air, which, after being washed by the sun, was growing cooler as the sun began to set, casting long, bold shadows.
"It's like it just," Akira breathed, turning in a full circle. "Stops. Everything ... " She looked around. "Stops."
Azure looked around, seeing she was right. The trees went on and on behind them, large, towering trees, and then ... everything stopped. Like an invisible line had been drawn. The forest, the ancient, vast forest, gave way to an equally ancient, and even vaster expanse. Open space, filled with fading grasses (due to the late hour of the year) and rolling hills. Occasionally, some other plants, but ...
"How many miles?" she asked, looking to him.
"What?"
"How many miles," she asked again, "Do you think that goes?" She nodded out at the expansive land.
"Looks like," he said, sighing, shrugging. "Forever." He struggled to comprehend. "I've just never had a reason to leave the forest, never ... there are no trees," he said, looking out. "How can there be no trees? It's all so ... naked," was the only word he could come up with.
"Like the sky," she said. "Only grounded." She shrugged her wings. "Not so bad."
"It looks lonely."
Her gaze turned to him. "It won't be," she whispered to him. She nodded to his eyes. "Alright?"
"Okay," he whispered. Reassured.
"Let's just ... "
WHAM!
Akira was hit from behind, with an oomph, going tumbling, tumbling, sprawling. Wing over wing, end over end. With a blue bat, larger than her. They scudded, scuffled a bit before coming to a stop, having torn up the grass. The dirt. The blue bat shoved her down. Pinned her. It was Ereth. His fangs showing.
Azure had no time to react before he was pummeled, too, several bats dive-bombing, dropping from the clear, late sky. He pounded into the ground, smacking his head into the grass and soil, squeaking, yelping out in sudden pain, feeling claws digging into his back. The claws turned him over and round, to his back, and the bats held him down. He craned his neck, seeing Akira. Her muzzle was bleeding. Red trickling from her mouth. A scratch down her cheek. Bleeding. Inflicted by Ereth's fangs.
Her blood dripping from his mouth, Ereth, still keeping her pinned, spoke. Vicious. "Well, we meet again."
"Shut up," she told him.
"I don't think I will."
"You're so obvious, Ereth," she said, defiant. Though battered, hurt. Her eyes glared at him, and she struggled. Squirmed. But he kept his hold.
"And you're so unpredictable. That's why I love you so," he teased, putting his fangs on her neck, running them through her fur. To her lips. Breathing into her mouth, lips almost touching. "Your little ... " He was about to say "rodent," but still aching from Azure's attack, backed off. "Your bushy-tailed friend there," he said, peering over at Azure with some kind of hatred.
Azure peered back, chest heaving. Angry. Adrenaline pumping.
Ereth looked back into Akira's eyes. "He did a number on me, but ... I'm not dead," he said, "As you can see. No doubt," he whispered to her, "You were hoping I was."
She said nothing.
"I knew you were making for the clearing. I just didn't know where, exactly, or when, but ... we seem to have found each other. That's all that matters."
She shoved up at him, wringing partially free, but he yanked her back down. Slamming her to the grass. She squeaked and yelped.
Azure wrestled toward her. The bats guarding him dug their claws through his fur and to his skin, and he growled, swiping his paws. Batting a bat's head, knocking him into another bat, tripping and tangling them both. They fell out of the way.
Ereth sighed with annoyance, looking up to Azure. And then looking above.
The squirrel craned his neck. At least four more bats were up there, circling, waiting to dive-bomb. To attack.
"Go ahead," Ereth dared. "Take her," he said, nodding down at Akira. Whose eyes flickered to Azure's, and then back to Ereth's.
"What do you think you're gonna do to me, huh?" Akira asked Ereth.
"Oh, I'm going to kill you. Slowly," he whispered into her ear. A promise. "But not just yet. My orders," he said, "Are to apprehend you. To make sure you don't get away. I'm to bring you back, and you'll ... be punished."
"As an example, no doubt," she hissed.
"An example," he said, nodding. "Of a wayward soul."
"You're insane," she whispered to him. "You're ... you don't even have a soul. You're nothing more than a drone. How would you know," she demanded, "Anything about a soul?"
"I know yours is too loose. Too dangerous. If every bat was like you, our society would crumble. We would be hunted like we once were. Harvested. Souls like yours are so wrapped up in their own, isolated little world, they fail to see the big picture."
She shook her head at him.
"You are selfish. You are a reprobate."
"A reprobate?" she hissed.
"I can only imagine," he said, tilting his head, putting his nose to hers, "What you and the fur-ball have been ... doing."
Azure bristled
"That's none of your business. I don't need," she said, "Your validation. And I certainly don't need the validation of any of the others. I don't need for my actions to be sanctioned by society," she spat, struggling, "For them to be acceptable. I've done nothing wrong."
"Which is why you're a menace. You're blind to your errors. You've rejected order. You've rejected stability. If we let you go, it may incite rebellion."
She tried to shove him off. Again. Hating how intimate he was trying to get with her, hating that he was so close. She sensed Azure nearby, seething.
"And you," she told Ereth, probing him, trying to get under his skin, "Are the paragon of stability. Mad with obsession. You're obsessed with me."
"Think what you will. But," he said, leaning up a bit, still holding her down. Nodding at the bats above, who started to circle downward. "You are coming home."
She shook her head, welling with fear, hatred, instinct. She did the only thing she could see to do. She bit his nose.
He squeaked and tried to pull back, but her fangs had dug in. She bit. Hard. Deep.
And, Azure, before the bats could stop him, had vaulted on all fours, barreling into Ereth, yanking him away and to the ground. Leaving a chunk of his nose in Akira's mouth, who wretched and spat it out. Coughing and raising her wings.
"Stop her!" Ereth shouted, between batters from the squirrel's paws.
Akira launched into the air.
Ereth growled, then looked into the squirrel's eyes. "Not," he grunted, "This time." And he flared his wings in the squirrel's face, flapping at him, digging his foot-claws into Azure's lower legs and paws. Azure howled, and Ereth shoved him aside. The squirrel rolled a few feet, coming to a stop, pushing to a quick sit. Ducking. Another bat sailed by the spot where his head had been. Azure scanned the sky, looking for ...
"Akira," Ereth shouted, watching as the pink bat madly swerved and fluttered, ramming the conscious members of the hunting party. Disposing of them ... one by one. As they dropped to the ground in a daze, knocked out.
Growling again, Ereth launched into the air, going after her himself. And they, suddenly, were the only two bats left in the fight.
Azure watched from the ground, helpless, eyes and head darting to follow the aerial dogfight. Akira was in front. She swooped, her belly nearly skimming the grass. She flared upward, flapping erratically and dropping again. Ereth sailed past her, and she picked up speed, going after him, gaining altitude. Dropping. Gashing one of his wings with her claws. He tottered a bit, but flapped, flapped up, wheeled about, and fell like a dart. Careening inches from her. She swerved, and almost lost it.
Akira gasped for air, not thinking about her maneuvers. Simply flying. Knowing, thinking in the back of her mind, that she would lose this. She'd been going on little food for the past few days. They'd been walking for countless hours. She didn't have the stamina or the ... she felt a searing rip go through her shoulder, looking down to see blood. Hers. And Ereth wheeling away, and wheeling back. For another stab. She flapped up, up, but her shoulder ached, and she started sinking. Gravity began it's pull. She swooped low. He followed. And then, ZING!
A fast-moving, grey object whizzed a foot or so above her head. A cracking sound. A cry. A thump. Stuttering to a shaky landing, Akira gasped for breath, breasts heaving. Wings sagging. She looked around.
"I think he's, uh, dead this time," said Azure. Wringing his paws.
Akira looked from the squirrel to Ereth. Squinting. And she saw ... he was. The middle of his forehead. Blood. Oozing. A hard, jagged rock had been hurled at him. Akira didn't know how Azure had come up with the idea, or how he'd found it, just ...
"Good aim," she whispered. Sincere.
He nodded. Quiet. The rest of the bats disposed. Most of them simply unconscious, but ...
"Alright, let's," said Akira, still heaving. "Let's go. We have a long way," she said, looking to the horizon.
"Won't they follow?"
She shook her head. Certain. "They've been beaten twice. Ereth is dead. They won't risk further failure or embarrassment." Her eyes fell upon her former designated partner. And she wondered if she should feel some kind of sorrow. But she didn't. She just didn't. She felt nothing. And that, in turn, made her feel ... she didn't know. This whole thing was bitter. She was fighting and killing her own kind. But they were leaving her, had left her, no choice. "No choice," she whispered. Blank.
"What?" Azure whispered back.
"Nothing." She took a deep, cleansing breath. Aching. Bleeding, still, from the nose and mouth and shoulder. She wobbled.
"Are you okay?" he asked. The fear and anxiety spiking in his voice. He was at her side in a flash, paws on her. Through her fur.
She sighed and nodded. "Us bats," she said, "Have healing abilities, remember?" She swallowed. "I'll need to rest." She looked around one last time. "But it can't be here. Just in case they get any ... bright ideas," she said, "We should get far enough away." She looked to him, her ragged breath showing in the dimming air. It was approaching evening.
They began moving off.
"You're limping," she noticed.
"Ereth got me, uh, in the leg. Nothing permanent."
She sighed and nodded. And she looked past him and out to the horizon. The sun was setting. Out on the horizon, the sun was sinking. Out there, at the end of the world. Where the two of them would go and live. A smile crept upon her face.
"I imagine," she said quietly, as they started to move, "That out there, wherever we end up ... "
"Yes?"
"We can mend. Everything will mend. We can fix all our," she said, pausing, finding his paws on her sides. "Our severed dreams," she breathed. As his nose and muzzle pressed to hers. As they kissed. A wet, messy one. Both of their breaths out of control.
He pulled back, nose and whiskers twitching. Eyes watered.
She used her wing to wipe her blood from his lips.
Standing on the tips of her foot-paws (to reach his ears), she whispered, "Let's go."
He nodded. And they went. Half expecting a branch of Easter to sweep down before them.
It took them over a week to reach the mountains. By that time, both of them were tired, weary, nearly sick. Azure came down with a fever. Shivering and chattering and sweating while he slept. Akira watching over him, bleary-eyed, head buried in her wings. Going out to gather what food she could find during the day. There was plenty of fresh water available. Water wasn't a problem. But the food ...
Akira fretted, pacing back and forth in the cave. Azure was thin enough as it was. He wouldn't survive two months of hibernation unless he built up some weight. The sickness hadn't helped. He was only now getting better ...
He wanted to tell her he was sorry. He kept wanting to tell her that, but knew it would only make her mad. She kept shoveling food into his mouth. One day, she caught a fish.
"Come on," she said.
He was dizzy and couldn't stand. "What ... "
"I caught this thing, and I cooked it." She swallowed, catching her breath. "And you're going to eat it."
"I don't eat meat," he whispered. "We don't," he told her, shaking his head, "Eat meat."
"Azure," she said, nose to his. She didn't care if she caught his sickness. In fact, she might as well. Then at least she would be too delirious to think about everything that had happened. To think about the future.
"What?" he asked again.
"I don't care," she whispered into his ears. No-nonsense. "You're eating it. So help me," she said, feeling a sudden, emotional swell. "Don't argue with me. I'm asking," she said. "I'm asking you to eat it." Pause. "I'd rather not have to force it down your throat."
He nodded. Whimpering.
"Thank you," she whispered, feeling like her head was being pounded by something. She winced. Headache.
It was snowing out ...
A week or so later, mostly recovered, having gained a few pounds (though Akira herself had lost quite a few; no longer so stout), Azure began sleeping for long periods of time. She tried to wake him once. Nothing. He was deep into it. His hibernation had begun, and it was ... still snowing. She shuddered, her breath showing in the air. And, crying, she curled up next to Azure, clutching his tail. Feeling ... alone. She whispered things into his ear, hoping he could hear her in his deep sleep ...
When his eyes fluttered open two months later, his hibernation cycle coming to an end, his blurry vision met hers.
She was beaming. Ecstatic. She took his paws in her wings.
"You're awake," she whispered. Child-like.
He nodded weakly. "Guess so."
She laughed, eyes watered. She nodded. Sighed. And breathed deep.
Come summer, she sat on a fallen pine tree. Partially rotted wood, a bit of moss on it. On the banks of water. Foot-paws dangling into a crystal pool of cool water. With ripples. Reflections. Azure's reflection appeared, and she looked up.
"Hey," she went quietly, with fondness. Familiarity.
He wordlessly gave her a pink flower he'd found. It had been in a patch of other wild flowers, a patch of blue. The pink flower was same color that her fur was. She put her nose to it. It smelled of the sky, of freshness. Of being.
She slipped off the trunk, stood on the bank of the crystal pool. Walked the few steps to him. And kissed his cheek.
"If only I had a vase," she said, "To put it in."
"A vase?"
"Only, a vase of flowers in a room ... even in a cave," she said, sighing, shrugging. Laughing with her eyes. "That's when you know a place is a home. When you have see flowers in vases."
He nodded. Looking to the ground, the dirt. And then to a pine tree, or some kind of conifer. Eyes darting at the trees. Where he came from. While she gazed at the sky, which was where she came from.
And then their eyes found each other.
"Here we are," she whispered, a smile creeping to her face. She took in a deep breath. Let it out.
He smiled, bit his lip. Nodded. Standing next to her, sniffing her fur. Nose against her shoulder.
"What?" she asked, still holding the flower. Which bobbed daintily.
"You smell like peppermint."
She smiled. "Thank you."