come home

breathing.

it was such a simple thing, a feeble want from everything that lived. the trees breathed with the gentle sway of the wind, forthright in their yearning to grow. and the water, oh it breathed with greatness, with waves that crashed and hues that glowed. and she, such a small thing in the scheme of the world, was just the barest lift of one’s chest. she was a grain, dust beneath one’s touch, a root not quite yet exposed to all that could assist its growth.

but then the world changed, breathing for her—into her—ever so finally. she was alive, a sapling only just. a girl, a woman, a princess born of the forest. with limbs of dulled bronze and eyes of the ripest fruit, she was a piece of the very tree that she now laid beneath, entangled within roots.

a hum of the softest touch wavered the soil where her muzzle rested, unearthing soft grains as she pulls herself into a new world. grown. whole. alive.

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the words came swiftly, delicate almost—as if one spoke with breath and not word. —stuck? no, not nearly. soma was space and sun, ever-orbiting, ever-purposeful. she was draped in blankets of her roots, coiled as if they, too, did not wish to part with her so soon. their sapling, their seed, their grain. and she, she was abuzz with the desire to build her queendom. amass a family, a community amidst the earth. one for the earth.

it would take her time, surely. the beat of her wings was absent, stagnant in her beginning, but she would find them alongside others. “not stuck.” she amended, the barest of smiles lifting her lips. “the earth does not wish to part with me.” and she, it, but that would be an odd thing to say to a stranger. one who did not understand, not yet. maybe not ever.

she was but a bird scrambling from its nest for the first time, wings weak until tried. “i am soma.” she uttered, tone strained as she squirmed between roots. it was then, when she was righted and a heavy breath had been expelled, that soma had noticed the vibrant patch of color perched on the stranger. curiosity and awe mingled within her gaze before she settled it kindly on the other, not necessarily expecting a name in return, but expecting...something.

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“vasiliya.” soma would echo, the taste of something native on her tongue. unnamed, unspoken, her home language was forgotten in the face of another who understood her, someone she could speak to. how long had it been since she'd spoken to another? the echoes of the trees did not count, though she would never utter it aloud where their leaves fell.

as the name fell from vasiliya, it was with a great tenderness that she moved her gaze to the other. awe still trickled like a weeping fountain, but soma reigned herself in once her youthfulness crept past her defenses. “my ancestors favor colonies.” of birds. their limbs and leaves were most safe for the species, and soma had always found interest in the flighty things. it was a challenge for her—to gather the most birds. though not every one loved her, it was the rare ones that sought her out, perching upon her without a care.

interested, still, soma sat in front of the other, lips spread. “does he guide you home?” for wherever else would one seek to be looking? “have i sprouted within your home?” oh, perhaps, she had. the sentinels around, nosy as they may be, never were aware of the homes of who.

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the bird's outburst was met with a softened grin, eyes alight with the wonder to know what they were so flighty about. had she said something wrong? offended them in a manner unbeknownst to her?

her eyes flitted back to vasiliya and a sigh expelled at her words. they did not covet this land—both a blessing and a disappointment. she'd been told otherwise, influenced differently. what else was she meant to deduce on her own, what else did she not know to its full extent? soma huffed. still, she could not escape from the wooded arms, even after she was all but grown.

but it was vasiliya's manner of speaking that sent soma's head reflecting the gentle movement of her own. “how else could you have grown?” born, she would mean, but such phrasing was not used amidst nature. the sprites were not born from another, but grew from stem to petal, from stalk to cap.

“and this—do you know where i am?”

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