Originally written in February 2012 for my In the City prompt call. Content warning: this is a war story, although only in the abstract.
They knew how to handle the snow, and their enemy did not.
So they stayed ensieged, locked in their city, feigning more distress than they felt…
Novemeber had a lot of, ah, false starts. So here’s another one, the beginning of the first story I started about flying.
Problem was, it’s sort of a nice setting image but it doesn’t want to go anywhere.
Taking flight hadn’t been the easy part; it’d been terrifying, horrible, and, for more than a couple minutes, Parastoo had been absolutely certain she was going to die.
But every child did it, dove from the next, caught the wind, spread their wings, and flew – or missed, and tumbled, climbed back up and tried it again. Every child had to fly, if they wanted to ever be an adult, if they ever wanted to really leave home.
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