Max awoke to the soft moonlight spilling through her curtains. She yawned, stretching her wings, and looked away for just a moment. When she looked back, she found a dark silhouette now occupied the open window, lurking just beyond the filmy drapery. She could see the unmistakable outline of one enormous wing, so she knew it must be one of the Flock. And there was only one Flock member that would be lurking outside of her window at this hour.
"Fang?" Max whispered.
"Want to go for a Night Flight?" he proposed.
Max approached and took his outstretched hand, his soft fingers warm as they encased hers. She stepped up onto the windowsill and looked out. The tree line in the distance looked more like the jagged end of the sky, lit by the stars and the crescent moon. In such situations as this, Max did not feel the incessant need to be the leader, or to claim independence. It was just she and Fang, and he understood her better than anyone else on earth.
Then, in one fluid motion, they both leaped off the windowsill and let the cool night air fill their wings. There was no interruption. No mental smirk from Angel, no distant explosions or fireworks. The rest of the Flock knew nothing of their absence, and both of their minds were blank of anything but the presence of each other and the sweet sensation of flying.
With their raptor vision, they could see the canyons and valleys far below them, as they sped farther and farther into the distance, away from the home that marked their crowded daily life with the rest of the Flock. They left behind all other thoughts as they simply enjoyed being together. He stole a glance, then she; the sweet intoxication of love.
In a dreamlike state, they gave over to instinct, and began to swoop and twirl and dive around one another…a rough imitation of the lover's dance of falcons. And the falcons, who did not see them, would have thought if they had that these were of their own kind, locked in a mating dance amongst the constellations.
At last, they alighted, on a far off tree on one of the distant mountains, high, so high, above the ground. They perched on a branch, Fang leaning against the trunk of the tree, and Max leaning back against his chest. She tilted her head back, and gazed into his eyes, and he into hers. Here, Fang was the leader. He held her; led the lover's dance. Fang's eyes softened, as they did, only for her. He leaned in and stole a kiss.
"I love you," he whispered, and Max smiled.
"And I, you," she replied, as they watched the moonset, and the eastern sky glowed faintly pink.
These were their stolen moments.