Page 10 of May: Bloom & Bane

Fort The Sun, he chirps, his little chest heaving. So she doesn’t forget what the fire looks like while we’re in the hush.

I reach down and carefully help him secure the leaf.

“She won’t forget, Droot,” I say. “She is The Sun, remember?”

Day 117:

I wake up to find the ground littered with emerald dust. My wings are shedding their summer skin. The vibrant green flakes drift down to mix with the peony petals.

It’s strange to see pieces of yourself dying, only to realize it’s the only way to grow.

I spend the day carving a small trench around the plinth to channel the autumn rains away from the base. Droot helped me by moving pebbles, which mostly meant he carried them two inches to the left and dropped them with a proud chirp.

Sage is losing his leaves! he squeaks, his eyes wide. Will Sage be naked for The Sun?

“It’s called a molt, Droot,” I grumble, though I can’t help but smile at his concern. “I’m just changing my clothes.”

Day 125:

Lead has entered my veins. Or at least that’s what it feels like.

It started in my roots. As the maples turn to crimson and the last of the peonies curl into their bronze sleep, the earth begins to pull at me.

It’s a slow, steady thrum, whispering that it’s time to close my eyes and let the moss cover my head.

My eyelids feel weighted with river stones. I slump against the plinth, my wings drooping until they sag in the dry leaves.

Boop.

A cold, damp nose slams into the tip of mine.

I jerk awake and find Droot standing on my collarbone, his long ears pinned back in a look of sheer determination.

No sleep-time, Sage! he chirps, his voice a frantic spark in my mind. The Sun is still here! The Sun needs the eyes!

“I’m… I’m awake, Droot,” I rasp, rubbing my face with a hand that feels increasingly like bark.

Liar-Sage, he huffs. My eyelids threaten to fall again, so he hops onto the bridge of my nose and begins a tiny tap-dance. If Sage closes eyes. Droot will nibble the ears. Very hard. Much pain.

I let out a dry, rattling chuckle and reach up to steady him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He responds by giving my left ear a sharp, warning nip.

The sting is exactly what I need.

I straighten my spine, forcing my wings to unfurl and shake off the frost. I glance down at Eden. In the dim, copper light of the autumn evening, she looks so warm and content.

Day 136: The earth still wants me back. It whispers of silence and the cool comfort of the dark, but I refuse to listen.

I am the only one who whispers to you about the way your copper hair catches the autumn light. If I sleep, the world goes dark for you, too. So sleeping is not an option.

Droot is a very effective alarm clock, and my ears will likely be tattered by spring, but at least I will be awake to see it.

“Í’neeth,” I whisper to the glass. “I am yours.”

Day 139:

The sky is full of V-shapes today. The geese are honking their way south, fleeing the cold.