The birds came at twilight. Coal black wings shot with petroleum rainbows scythed through the still air. Harsh calls ricocheted from tree to tree, muddling in the mist.
Coming out of her daily slumber, the birds were as much an alarm call as the seismic shift of sun sinking below the horizon. As she slumbered, they were her eyes, the only sight of truly sunlit lands she had seen in centuries.
Flying close, wings brushed against skin; further transferring memory and thought. As rare lovers could confirm, fingers smoothing through her hair would more often than not dislodge several feathers.
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