she heard him before she saw him.
the crunch of grass, ragged breath—his breath. twitch froze mid-step, head snapping toward the sound like an arrow loosed from the nock. her whole body tightened, wind sucking from her lungs, chest caving inward as if the ache inside her would finally make her collapse.
“twitch?”
the world stilled. she didn’t think. didn’t pause. real or fake, she ran. collided into him with the force of weeks unspent, grief pent in her limbs and terror like a noose still clutched around her ribs. she didn’t even know if her legs were still moving—only that one second she was staring at him across a strange field, and the next her face was buried in his neck, half-sobbing, half-gasping as her claws dug into his fur like anchor points.
she couldn’t say it. couldn’t say what had happened. couldn’t bring herself to tell him the things that still burned behind her eyes when she tried to sleep, or tell him about the new scars hidden at her belly. she didn’t want to ruin this. not after finally finding him again.
she sobbed against his chest, heart hammering like a bird was trapped between her ribs. it wasn’t until his arms wrapped around her, solid and warm and grounding, that the sparrow smacked into her ribs enough to dizzy itself, slow down her heart.
turns out, she didn’t have to know. family would always find each other.
twitch hadn’t even noticed her through the fog, hadn’t registered the weight of footsteps beside cole’s. but then there were arms around her again, softer this time—smelling of sun-warmed stone and salt. the kind of scent that made her feel safe.
“it’s okay,” winnie said, over and over, like a lullaby for something wounded and wild. twitch didn’t believe it. not yet. but she buried her face in her fur anyway, let herself be held. let herself sag like wet cloth between them both.
the crunch of grass, ragged breath—his breath. twitch froze mid-step, head snapping toward the sound like an arrow loosed from the nock. her whole body tightened, wind sucking from her lungs, chest caving inward as if the ache inside her would finally make her collapse.
“twitch?”
the world stilled. she didn’t think. didn’t pause. real or fake, she ran. collided into him with the force of weeks unspent, grief pent in her limbs and terror like a noose still clutched around her ribs. she didn’t even know if her legs were still moving—only that one second she was staring at him across a strange field, and the next her face was buried in his neck, half-sobbing, half-gasping as her claws dug into his fur like anchor points.
cole—you’re here—she breathed, and again, more broken, more desperate—
cole.he was real. he was alive. wasn’t dead and didn’t leave her like a wisp on the wind. the tears come faster than she can think to stop them.
she couldn’t say it. couldn’t say what had happened. couldn’t bring herself to tell him the things that still burned behind her eyes when she tried to sleep, or tell him about the new scars hidden at her belly. she didn’t want to ruin this. not after finally finding him again.
she sobbed against his chest, heart hammering like a bird was trapped between her ribs. it wasn’t until his arms wrapped around her, solid and warm and grounding, that the sparrow smacked into her ribs enough to dizzy itself, slow down her heart.
I thought i’d never—she choked.
i don’t know where she is—
turns out, she didn’t have to know. family would always find each other.
twitch hadn’t even noticed her through the fog, hadn’t registered the weight of footsteps beside cole’s. but then there were arms around her again, softer this time—smelling of sun-warmed stone and salt. the kind of scent that made her feel safe.
“it’s okay,” winnie said, over and over, like a lullaby for something wounded and wild. twitch didn’t believe it. not yet. but she buried her face in her fur anyway, let herself be held. let herself sag like wet cloth between them both.