The Bird-child lacerated the water with her spindley fingers, her faun hair soaked but for the deep green feathers streaked through it that managed to glow as if they were a-flame. In the ocean’s rage it unmercifully shook the Bird-childs body. Through the horror of the night, the wind began to sob and the storm subside, but the Bird-child slept and the tide cradeled her to the distant hills.
The stars were still twinkling when the Bird-child arose in the post-dawn light. She was soaked to the bone and her bejeweled tunic clung to her legs while they shook holding her weight for the first time in what seemed an age. Her eyes pierced the horizon and the forest where the morning breath was still clinging to the night. She saw nothing but pure nature, no human relic to remind her of the ghosts of the past. She sucked in the air, filled with the sweet sorrows. Mother Earth was missing her children, the Bird-child knew this but inside she rejoiced at the rebirth of the earth. All she knew was that she was alive.