the winds begin to sing (changeling: the lost | original changeling)

[fiachairecht]

the winds begin to sing. changeling: the lost, original female changeling. an elemental escapes, perhaps. 300w, rated t. for shadaras in battleshipex 2021.

You're not the first to escape.

You're not even the first to make it past the gates — the others make a game of it, seeing the furthest tree they can touch and still make it back before the patrols come around again. It's not escaping, they'd say. Even Changeling bodies need conditioning if they must Dance.

That's what they would say, if there was time to say anything after they were caught.

You know better than them. You're not the first to escape, and it's very hard for the spiraling bars of a gate to contain the Airtouched.

The tangled webs of bracken and bramble slow you down. Each fallen berry stops you in your tracks as you kneel to eat the fruit offered you by your sisters in the winds, and yet, each one marks another step on the path towards freedom.

You're not the first to escape. Others have walked here before you — haven't they? The birch trees are marked, each knife-slash through their papery bark pointing the way forwards. You know better than to trust blindly in them, and with your hands and ears and eyes on the wind, you feel your way towards the Hedge.

All the skies are yours, the Lady once said.

You're starting to wonder what the other world's skies will look like when the path opens up before you, the wind at your back nudging you towards the manor house.

You're not the first to escape, and the thought has brought you comfort.

You are the last to escape, though, and whatever love Arcadia has for the Elementals within its borders has kept that thought from you for—

How does the wind measure time? Why does time matter to the breeze?  

It doesn't, of course.

The Dancers have missed you. Welcome home.