She felt the subtle shift within the veins of her wings. It was so small but it echoed through her body like the warhorns the Illyrians used in excess. Yes, her beautiful and mutilated wings were a constant source of dull, throbbing pain, but twice a year. Just twice. She felt something. Something cool, that crackled over the deep brown-red leather of her wings and reminded her of what could have been. What was lost before it was ever found.

It meant spring was finally taking its first breath in the mountains. It was a gentle pull to her homelands. When the young males would start testing out their prowess on the warm southern winds. It was a time of life, when the harsh tension of winter was relieving its grasp just enough for her people to sigh in relief.

"Well? Are you going to try, Emerie?" The sharp inquiry stemmed from the equally cutting face of Nesta Archeron, Emerie's dearest friend and greatest challenger. Nesta gestured a slim hand to the center of the training circle where several priestesses sweated out the latest—torture—exercise Cassian had dreamed up for them.

"After you," Emerie grimaced, rubbing her hands up and down her bare arms. The skintight leathers were ideal for the grueling workouts they engaged in every other day, but they left her feeling exposed.

Nesta studied her movements, but did not share whatever she had observed. "Cassian's particularly cruel this morning. It seems there's been even more troubles in the Illyrian camps. I'll never understand what he hopes to gain from those visits, other than meting out his frustration on us all."

Emerie flicked a glance to Nesta's mate, who stood on the far side of the training circle. His full attention was on the priestesses, but she could have sworn his shoulders twitched in the hint of laughter. What an odd yet engaging pair they were. Nesta and Cassian never failed to entertain her, their bickering was a healthy staple of their relationship.

"Did he say what happened?" Emerie asked, as nonchalantly as she could. Spring meant energy, high tensions after a hard winter. Any number of fights would be breaking out to relieve the pressure.

"Nothing I cared to note," Nesta shrugged and studied her friend for a heartbeat longer. "I gather it's the males and Devlon yet again. If I had to guess."

"An educated guess," Emerie gave the barest dip of her chin. She shifted back and forth on the balls of her feet, trying to muster up the enthusiasm for Cassian's latest nightmare workout. She dug deep, chasing that spark that had greeted her before Nesta's interruption.

It… was gone.

Emerie grew deathly still. It couldn't be. She had been guided by those small sparks her entire existence. It came during the autumn and springtide, when the shift settled across her mountains. It was present the first time she had met Nesta, coaxing Emerie into giving the intense female a chance. Whenever she had trained with the priestesses, no matter how difficult the work, she had felt that spark. Giving her the assurance that she was pursuing what she needed deep in her soul.

"Emerie?"

She grimaced. Emerie had always prided herself on following her gut. "Give my condolences to Gwyn, please. This workout routine will be twice as harsh for her since she's late."

Emerie glanced over her shoulder just once, observing the deep blue skies with small puffs of clouds that begged her to touch them, to play in their dense moisture. She shifted slightly to avoid seeing her damaged wings. A beautiful day for flying. Then she stalked from the ring.

"Where are you going?" Nesta called after her, feet planted in place. Nesta did not chase, she was a queen whose subjects came to her.

Emerie tossed back at her, "Home."

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

long time no see, amiright. this story is just for fun, I start a new job in just under two weeks and I wanted to free a bit of creativity into the universe before I do. I wrote this because I love love, love my baby gays, and love a good ol healing journey. It's supposed to be a short lil story but who the fuck knows. love y'all!