Chapter Two
I examine the fallen feather - one of my pinions that snagged on one of the branches from the little apple-tree in the garden. - it is clear and glasslike, but as soft and light as a normal feather, a normal crows feather at least. Many birds had much softer feathers.
Like owls. The voice is mine and not, like the memory that accompanies the thought of owls. speckled brown wings, round golden eyes and a scared child's voice...
"Bree." That was her name? wasnt it? No. I say to myself, but deep inside, I know that it's a lie. Even after five years since seeing the girl, and months of complete silence from this facet of my thoughts, I can't forget her. And it weakens...me...my strength, against...
Me?
Yes. Against these wrong thoughts, which have plagued me since I first drew breath...
But I existed before then.
You didn't say alive?
I am not alive, not like a human, this is just a temporary transition through flesh and breath.
But I am alive.
I am not. Not truly living.
Am I different to...me...then?
No. You are just memories.
Golden eyes look at me in suspicion and question, not my own, but the eyes of her, and her anima...
You are nothing.
I am different to you then, because I am memories, and you are...not.
I am real.
But I hold our past...
I press my fists to my temples, blocking out the voice that has caused so much damage, crushing the soft clear feather in my hand.
But not as soft as an owl's...
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This sounds a bit like Tomas and the Shur'tugal from Raymond E. Fiest's Riftwar saga. whoops, does that make it plagiarism, or inspiration? Sorry this chapters short. I should probably combine it with the next one, also short, but I like this place to end.~Ratpigeon Oh yeah, in case you're confused, this is another five years after Chapter one, making Cooro and Bree nine.
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