Sanctuary (On the Wind Book 1) by Sam Burns & W.M. Fawkes

Author:Sam Burns & W.M. Fawkes [Burns, Sam & Fawkes, W.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: FlickerFox Books
Published: 2024-06-13T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY

BRETT

I’d never seen a damn thing like it in my whole life.

Okay, that wasn’t quite true.

I’d seen many an owl, and recognized the shape easily. Balthazar was a horned owl, the kind whose ears looked a little like great hooked horns. Many of his clanspeople were that, or various other sorts of owls. Spots, stripes, ears, no ears, various shades of brown and gray and black—while they were some of the most diverse creatures, they also all looked very similar, in some ways.

This was no different, except that it was.

Paris was as white as the snow piled on the roof, the only color on him tiny black feather tips and bright brown-gold eyes.

He was . . . stunning.

As always.

And he hadn’t struggled at all with flight. Most of us, when we reached our cresting, took at least a few tries to get it down. It wasn’t a normal human instinct, leaping from the ground and taking to the skies, even if we all knew we could do it. Spending decades on the ground as children, no one ever immediately took to flying.

Except Paris.

The Owl Clan was known for their wisdom, and during the time I’d known Paris, he’d been . . . if not clearly, overtly wise, he’d been wise in a different way. He didn’t spout clever things that it took me time to comprehend like Balthazar sometimes did. Instead, he had an innocent sort of wisdom. His complete lack of hesitation when he wanted to go help Esmerelda. The way he’d shared the plans for the sleigh with us while asking nothing in return.

Maybe most would think those actions entirely unwise, and maybe, if he’d been anywhere but where he was, they would have been. But Paris was in Hawk Clan territory. He was among people who took what he gave them, and accepted it as who he was. By giving the plans, he’d proven himself generous without having to be asked for favors. By going to help Esmerelda, he’d proven that he was willing to consider other people before himself.

Even now, by interfering in the fight with Orestes, he’d been protecting me. And maybe Rosaline, who had been distressed. How else could she have felt about it? She was still dealing with the guilt of having been forced to kill Clio. Me paying for it in any way was hurting her.

Damn Clio and Memnon and their selfish fucking plotting.

I watched Paris and Rosaline, snuggled up on the roof of my house, looking like it was right where they belonged.

Paris’s eyes were a little wide, but . . . well, I was the asshole who hadn’t explicitly explained what Avianitis meant—what would happen to him, since he’d survived. He’d been shocked by the transformation, and now he was on the roof. It had to be overwhelming.

Meanwhile, everyone in town was busy being charmed by him, as always.

Every sweet, kind, selfless thing he’d ever done was multiplied by the fact that he was one of us now, in their minds.

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