All That Glitter And All That Burns

I could feel the wind start to pick up. 

An artificial breeze manifesting with only one known source. Small little gusts, swaying branches, rustling leaves, from the rising flap and flutter of outstretched wings. 

On the ground, amidst patches of melted snow and murky imprints of three-prong claws, a gap was beginning to form, a shadow - both extending further, larger, as the breeze blew stronger. The rustling, the swaying, all beset by the burning radiance of countless embered feathers. 

Ria lifted her head, pointing the tip of her beak toward the sky. Pigeons, doves, I've seen birds bracing to fly so many times before… but I suppose when things are big and close enough in scope, every single move you make just feels all the more momentous and grand.