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Darksoil seemed so tiny and insignificant from a distance. A little gray dot barely lit against the backdrop of inky black dirt. The night sky certainly wasn’t doing it any favor’s either. Just as Ink-Talon had suspected, there was no moon here. Nothing but the feeble light of alien stars and tiny lamps to illuminate the world. Still, he had made it this far, to the rim of the crater where the world suddenly exploded into greens and golds that would be far more visible come sunrise. The sheer density of the foliage would make for excellent cover from those searching for them, should they be unlucky enough to have them stumble across this one spot in the miles and miles of overgrown terrain that made up the crater’s perimeter.
They’d have to be absurdly unlucky, too. Ink-Talon had been very careful not to fly in a straight line from where he had left the city, nearly doubling back to have exited the crater on the opposite side. Every muscle in his body ached and burned now that it was over, and his Attunement redundantly informed him that he had overexerted himself. He needed to sleep. But he couldn’t stop staring at the city.
“It’s cold out here,” Gray squeaked from the ground beside him. “I forgot it was colder here than there. Mother always kept us warm.”
“So why did you leave?” Ink-Talon clicked. “I know you were having trouble adjusting, but those troubles weren’t going to go away outside.”
“I had to.”
“What?”
“I couldn’t stay because I’m me. I could only stay if I could stop.”
“I… don’t think I get what you’re saying,” the crow sighed. Being tired only made his difficulties with nuance in conversation even worse, and Gray was absolutely someone he needed a clear head to make any sense of.
“I don’t either.” The kit fell silent for a while, joining Ink-Talon in staring down from their perch on the ridge. Eventually, however, it spoke up, turning his own question back on him. “So why did you leave?”
Ink-Talon didn’t answer right away. He didn’t have a clear, concise answer. So much of what had happened that night had been impulse decisions made under pressure. He eventually just broke down and spoke his mind.
“I had to.”
“Oh.” Gray actually seemed disappointed. Had it been looking for guidance and clarity from him? From one of its “Parents?”
“It’s just the way things happened, I guess,” Ink-Talon chirped, trying to work through it all. “So much of it wasn’t under my control. I wouldn’t have left if things hadn’t gotten so… messy.”
“What are you going to do now? Go back?”
“No. I don’t think I can. I think we just need to… look forward, instead.”
“We’re usually looking in front of ourselves.”
“Not physically forward. Forward in time. The past has already happened. The future is always ahead.”
“Right.” The kit huffed in a human enough way that even Ink-Talon could tell that it didn’t quite grasp the idea.
“So, our pasts shape us, right?” The crow continued, trying to make things more comprehensible. “My time in Darksoil helped me figure out who I was. Connect with the people closest to me. Discover more things than anyone but the bat could probably count. I’ll always treasure it.” He turned to look at the vague shape of the squirrel next to him. “But we can’t live in the past. We can only remember it. We’re moving into the future whether we want to or not, and if we’re not paying attention to it, then we’ll be moving forward blindly.”
“That’s what I wanted, though.” The kit murmured. “I wanted to stop thinking about later and go back to how I was.” After a long, painful pause, a single squeak added another question. “Was I wrong?”
“You’re never wrong for wanting to be happy. For wanting things to be simple, for wanting to not have to think about what you are going to do with yourself or where you are going. But neither of us are ever going to find what we want if we don’t look ahead for it. We can’t travel back to where it was, only to where it will be.”
“Oh!” Ink-Talon felt Gray move as it spun around to face in the opposite direction. “Look!”
“Is something-” The crow shuffled to face the opposite direction, only to immediately spot what the kit was looking at. From their vantage at the top of the ridge, he could see the darkness of the night sky give way to the pinks and oranges of sunrise on the distant horizon. “You’ve never gotten to see a proper sunrise or sunset, have you? You were sleeping through the ones we had on the cart after you opened your eyes for the first time, and the walls of the courtyard would have blocked them from view at your height.”
“I get it. Maybe.” The kit chirped. “We have to look forward so that we can see new things. New things are only later. The past is old things.”
“That’s… yeah. You got it.” Ink-Talon settled in to watch the sunrise with the kit, using his wings to pull in the grasses and reeds he had gathered to cover themselves while they rested, before finally draping his left wing over Gray. “New things are coming. New days. And I think I’m going to spend most of this first new day sleeping.”
“Me too.”
Author's Note:
I really wanted to make something special for the end of Cohost, but I couldn't think of anything. And then it hit me. One of my characters is going through a similar transition in his life, so I could kinda work out my feelings through him. I know this is really on the nose, but that's why it just gets a little pseudo-canonical interlude like this. Something special for the Cohost version of this book to end on. Something looking forward, even as I reminisce about the past.
New things are coming. Don't forget to get some sleep.
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