HOME | DD

Description

There was a constant in the gentle swaying of his memory. From time to time, the smell came back.
It washed over him with the wind, thick enough to erase the aroma of the woods; it caught him when he walked along the borders of his home, faintly distracted, and wished that his eyes could reach farther.
It was a sweet smell, alive with humidity and rain. It got unbearable in days of bad weather. He’d walk out to the woods, leaving behind the chatter of happy young voices, to study the depths of an iron sky.
And though the raindrops drenched him, and his hair grew moist, what he felt was something else entirely – the smell shone sunlight on his back, turned into flowing air against his face, and told him tales that his ears alone could catch.
There were the bad times, too – the times when it mingled with the smell of blood, and the memory of glowing spears like birds of prey. But the thought of his adventure never lied; after the wounds came relief and rest, after pain, care. He sat on the ground, as if lost, and cried in solitude.
By the time thunder grew in the distance, he could no longer listen. The traces of other sounds, faraway and long gone, filled his ears; they stretched far, echoing in the nooks and crannies of an airy, verdant desert. Two voices that couldn’t exist without each other.
They had been so alone. It still felt like they were, so often.
Like that, their lives stretched into the future, each wrapped in their soothing routine. The struggle of day-to-day security forcibly softened the weight of loss. So it went on, until a ghost of the past came alive and brought along the whole of their adventure.
It was early morning when the light split the sky like a thunderstorm, and his wings spread open before he knew what was happening. Under dilated pupils, his whiskers trembled. The smell was back, stronger than ever.
The smell, and a guiding light – there was no mistake. There wouldn’t be, even at the end of his frantic journey. No matter that what he found was changed; no matter that there was complete silence, and the figures at the edge of his vision stood still, so foreign in their harmlessness.
Different, indeed, was the shape which sprinted towards him. Different the sight, and the arms, and the voice that was screaming his name. Even so, he could never be wrong.
He answered the call of his friend, and lowered his head at the same height of always. The small frame shook with laughter when his nose quivered on his neck.
Nothing out of place. It was his smell.

Description

There was a constant in the gentle swaying of his memory. From time to time, the smell came back.
It washed over him with the wind, thick enough to erase the aroma of the woods; it caught him when he walked along the borders of his home, faintly distracted, and wished that his eyes could reach farther.
It was a sweet smell, alive with humidity and rain. It got unbearable in days of bad weather. He’d walk out to the woods, leaving behind the chatter of happy young voices, to study the depths of an iron sky.
And though the raindrops drenched him, and his hair grew moist, what he felt was something else entirely – the smell shone sunlight on his back, turned into flowing air against his face, and told him tales that his ears alone could catch.
There were the bad times, too – the times when it mingled with the smell of blood, and the memory of glowing spears like birds of prey. But the thought of his adventure never lied; after the wounds came relief and rest, after pain, care. He sat on the ground, as if lost, and cried in solitude.
By the time thunder grew in the distance, he could no longer listen. The traces of other sounds, faraway and long gone, filled his ears; they stretched far, echoing in the nooks and crannies of an airy, verdant desert. Two voices that couldn’t exist without each other.
They had been so alone. It still felt like they were, so often.
Like that, their lives stretched into the future, each wrapped in their soothing routine. The struggle of day-to-day security forcibly softened the weight of loss. So it went on, until a ghost of the past came alive and brought along the whole of their adventure.
It was early morning when the light split the sky like a thunderstorm, and his wings spread open before he knew what was happening. Under dilated pupils, his whiskers trembled. The smell was back, stronger than ever.
The smell, and a guiding light – there was no mistake. There wouldn’t be, even at the end of his frantic journey. No matter that what he found was changed; no matter that there was complete silence, and the figures at the edge of his vision stood still, so foreign in their harmlessness.
Different, indeed, was the shape which sprinted towards him. Different the sight, and the arms, and the voice that was screaming his name. Even so, he could never be wrong.
He answered the call of his friend, and lowered his head at the same height of always. The small frame shook with laughter when his nose quivered on his neck.
Nothing out of place. It was his smell.