Make Your Heart a Compass

this town is only gonna get worse You still aren't paying attention, Virga. Blame exhaustion if you must - or the frustrated, fractured rage pounding in your skull. But you don't hear any noise of breaking underbrush. You don't hear the pound of wings, though likely you should. You're too busy staring at the ocean, feeling sorry for yourself, hating everything about the way this foreign air slithers across your skin. You've forgotten the stick, which never mattered, anyway, until it comes spinning back out of the darkness just like an actual boomerang and hits you right square in the middle of your pretty, pretty face. Your pretty face contorts first with surprise, then rage, then fear black as the darkest part of your eyes. Your body twists instinctively in the direction of the attack, eyes scouring the thick forest, as your wings flap and flare. For a moment, you forget about the sheer drop off to your left. You only know attack, know something wants to kill you. Gold glitters behind the leaves and boughs. Gold, and feathers, and your eyes narrow as you track it, your hooves leading you backward along the edge. The long, long spire of your horn drops just slightly, but in all honesty you aren't going to be doing much fighting right now. Your body already aches with the distance and horror of your months-long journey. It wants only to fling itself to the ground and sleep. "What do you want?" you manage to grind out. It's downright civil, actually, and you'd be proud of yourself if only because your father would probably, barely, approve of that - but you don't have the presence of mind to be proud or anything else. You're all wires, bunched and trembling, ears slicked back and body tense, your stupid wings hooded like a vulture sitting over a kill. You don't even know if the creature back there can speak, or if it's real. VIRGA

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@Noitcerru I am slow, but happy you replied here :D