Oh, the living are dead and the dead are all living ◇ Visitor

HOW THE MOST DANGEROUS THING IS TO LOVE
HOW YOU WILL HEAL AND YOU'LL RISE ABOVE

Tired, worn down by sleepless nights watching over a small flock, the feline glided down to the sand beaches. He had spent a few days looking over them, judging them and debating. He needed somewhere for his boys, he knew that his current lifestyle was ill suited for raising them. So, he had listened to traveling merchants, spent hours atop cliff watching their movements. He ahd finally decided, after days of begging from his trio, he would go down and visit, perhaps they could all go soon. He'd firmly instructed his boys to remain on the cliffside, empty threats that both parties knew were bluffs made. Side comments made of plucking feathers and grounding that the trio of boys had laughed at.

A smile gently drifted onto the angels face as he sat at the border, thinking in passing how he hoped nobody with clairvoyance passed by. He'd rather not deal with the screaming that normally came with his true form, though he couldn't blame that saw it, it was properly frightening. Thankfully, he could keep all of that tucked firmly away, power hidden from the natural eye.

The old feline stood now, wings tucked firmly against his side, at the edge of the beach, right along the border. He heard a soft caw and turned his head to see a raven settling on his shoulder, rubbing its head against the back of his neck. "Shining! Shining! Not as pretty as the gem!" it cried and Antarcticreign chuckled, swishing it gently with a reminder to be kinder, as this was not their home "No home! No home!" was the response he was given, once again causing him to chuckle and return his gaze forward. He thought to the small emerald he kept tucked away in a bag, now resting upon a cliff, once fashioned into an earding. He'd long stopped wearing it, too weary of it falling or becoming cracked. It was safe. It had been left in a big upon the cliff where his trio of boys were supposed to be and oh, how he hoped they still were.

He stood patiently, distinctly aware of the other corvids that crowded around him, particularly the raven upon his shoulder and pesky magpie that had taken to occasionally dive bombing past him, nipping at his chipped ears. He payed no attention to it, instead idly swishing feathered tail. knowing it would swiftly grow bored when it gained no reaction.

— Reggan