So many nights, Naesala could not fall asleep. Instead, he left the camp as silently as if he were nothing more than a shadow, the same color as the night, the same type of nothingness that could fade away into the darkness as if it had never been.
He found a sheer cliff and a mythically dense, foggy forest to hide him. The place was much more reminiscent of home than the edge of a beorc campsite. At the edge of the cliff, the ground plunged into a rocky, lifeless riverbed, and shrubs tangled like wildfire between trees, creeping up the trunks in an impenetrable thicket. But Naesala was satisfied with just the cliff. Standing at the edge, he stared down below at the barely trickling stream. The sight was so familiar, but also strangely sad.
Why was he still even breathing? Why was allowed to feel the cold on his face, hear the whispers of the night, feel the wind on his wings? Twice a traitor, twice a betrayer. He deserved nothing more than to be crushed on the hard rocks below, bloody and broken. No one should be allowed to look at him, speak to him, touch him. For he was filth, and he would be lucky to be killed at the claws of Tibarn. He was a waste of a life.
"No, you're not," said someone from behind him, very quietly, very sincerely.
Naesala whipped around. He knew that voice from the first breath. "Leanne," he sighed, shaking his head. "I should've known you'd be here, barging into my thoughts."
"I didn't mean to." She took a few small steps so that she was beside him. Her golden hair glittered in the iridescent moonlight, and her eyes shone like stars. Caught for a moment in her beauty, Naesala had to turn his gaze quickly towards the sky. She, however, would not let him be distracted. Her soft wing touched him gently on the shoulder. "You shouldn't think such things so openly about yourself, Naesala."
"Ah, but it's all true. I am twice a traitor. You can't deny that. Only scum would do the things I've done."
"Don't say that," insisted Leanne, though still calmly. "Naesala, I – I don't like it when you talk like that. I know that you are not any of those things. You have always guarded me and been there for me, even when I had no one else. You were the one who saved me three years ago. My whole life – when my family was destroyed – you took care of me, even when I was little. When I lived with the hawks… I missed you. I trust you, Naesala. Please, believe me – you are not a waste, or scum, or filth."
"So what am I, then? A saint?"
"No," sighed Leanne. "I… don't know what you are."
Unable to keep his eyes away from her any longer, Naesala studied her calm, honest face, her eyes closed now, her head tilted towards the ground. When had anyone ever thought of him like that? So determined, so convinced that he was more than a cruel-hearted fiend? How could he deserve to have her think so highly of him?
"You're thinking like that again," Leanne said sternly, hey eyes still closed. Swaying a little where she stood, she leaned into Naesala's side, her head resting lightly on his arm.
"Sorry."
They stood in silence for a long, long moment, disturbed by nothing other than the vague sounds of insects and animals and rustling leaves. Ever so slowly, Leanne was falling closer to him, and it was only then that Naesala realized how warm her small body was compared to his; she radiated heat like a sun in the nighttime chill. Her white wings glowed vibrantly pale against his dark tunic and black feathers.
She was everything he could never comprehend - innocence, serenity, and purity. A small, tender hand found his and squeezed it gently.
"Thank you for always… being with me," she murmured, the words a little quiet. "Someday… I will learn what you are."
Naesala made a noncommittal sound but didn't reply. He didn't think he had to, anyway. For she was exhausted; he didn't know how she had managed to find him this far from camp. Lifting her into his arms, Naesala found that she was somehow asleep, or at least resting stilly. Her head tilted into his chest, and her hand curled into a fist over Naesala's heart. Gentle breezes made her feathers tickle his arms, but he barely noticed, too entranced by her beauty.
He kissed her on the forehead before turning to bring her back to camp. He knew he'd have to travel quietly. For if Reyson saw him holding Leanne in such a way, Naesala would have yet another person dying for the chance to rip him apart.
"You keep your filthy hands off of my sister," hissed Reyson. His green eyes – so reminiscent of his sister's – glinted in the firelight.
Naesala crossed his arms, fighting to forget how similar Reyson was to his sister. "Or what? You'll fight me? Good luck with that, Reyson. I'll tell Rafiel to order a casket and a ceremony for you beforehand, to save him some time."
"Don't you dare," Reyson snarled, taking a step closer. Though the heron was short in stature, Naesala couldn't help but be impressed by the combination of Reyson's poise and fiery temper. The heron glared and prodded Naesala in the chest. "You sold me into slavery for your own accursed greed. How do I know you won't do the same to her if your coffers go empty? Stay away from both of us, traitor. Do you understand me?"
"Relax, Reyson," growled Naesala. "You know full well that Tibarn would tear my throat out if I ever hurt you again. Or Leanne. So back off."
There was a long, heavy pause, while neither man backed down. The first to move was Reyson. He stepped back and glared – if possibly – even more darkly. "Just when I had thought about trusting you again," he said bitterly. "You're a fool, Naesala. You're a fool and a dead crow if you think you can go on like this. Stay away from my sister."
Naesala watched him go, struck by his golden hair and white robes – again, so like Leanne's. Even his demeanor, his stance, his posture. But the words he spoke were so different. For a moment, Naesala wondered if Reyson was right. But as he thought of Leanne again, all his misgivings faded into unimportance, into the vague grey storm that he left to deal with another time.
"Why do you trust him so?"
Rafiel's question was simple and true-spirited. He did not mean to chastise, accuse, or slight his little sister. Yet still, Leanne's inner defenses rose instinctively; she crossed her arms and met her brother's eyes defiantly. "He is more than you think, Rafiel. None of you have given him a chance to prove that he more than a thief and betrayer. He has done wrong. But he is not a bad person, Rafiel. And still, no one has given him another chance!"
"Leanne, calm down, I was not implying that you were wrong to place your trust in him," assured Rafiel. "I only wondered why, when there are so many others who would protect you just as fiercely."
Glancing down at the ground, Leanne forced herself to relax, letting her wings drop a little and shaking her head to clear her thoughts. Why did she trust Naesala, so wholly and completely?
"He saved my life," she murmured. "When no one else was there, he came for me. He stayed beside me. My whole life… ever since I can remember… Naesala has been there." Leanne closed her eyes. Disjointed, mirrored shards of memories flashed through her mind. "I can tell him anything and he will not share a word. I can ask him anything, speak to him at any time… for he is always there, just for me, always for me. He guards me with his life. If someone… if someone were as important to you as he is to me, perhaps you could understand how I have learned to trust him."
"I do understand," said Rafiel. "I understand how powerful such a bond can be. And it is comforting to me, to know your reasons."
With a kind nod, Rafiel laid a hand carefully on her shoulder for a few seconds, then drifted off to another part of the camp, walking, as always, as if he were weightless. Leanne was left with nothing to do except stare after him, unable to discern his thoughts on the matter. Perhaps if Rafiel understood, he could speak to Reyson, and then she wouldn't lose her family for her love. But there were too many unknowns.
She thought through all of the things she hadn't been able to tell Rafiel - that behind the fiercely distant, sarcastic manner, behind the cold and blackness, and behind the scathing, remorseless words, Naesala despised himself for what he'd done, craved some way – any way – to redeem himself in his own eyes. Leanne remembered the tiny chills that tiptoed down her spine when he touched her, whether it was just a brush of the shoulder, or his hands taking hers to lead her someplace safe.
Every moment with him stood out like a star in Leanne's mind. She smiled when she recalled the sound of his laugh, his little sideways smirk, and the resonance of his voice when he spoke her name so sensitively and carefully.
Shaking her head quickly, Leanne set off at a fast walk, following Rafiel's footsteps. Thoughts changed nothing, thoughts won no wars, thoughts made no one happy. She had no time for pondering.
