The Glade of Fading Light
Morning arrives in the Whispering Woods the way a secret arrives—soft, golden, and impossible to keep quiet for long. Sunlight spills through the canopy in long ribbons, catching every dewdrop on every leaf until the whole forest glitters like something out of a dream someone forgot to stop dreaming. And right in the middle of all that glimmer, tumbling through a sunbeam with all the grace of a falling apple, is Lila.
"Whoa—whoa—oh no—"
She rights herself just before her nose meets a fern, wings beating in a frantic little blur, and hovers there a moment, blinking, victorious.
"I meant to do that," she announces to no one in particular, smoothing down her tunic, which has picked up a leaf, a petal, and what might be a very confused ladybug.
Lila's wings are the kind of thing that stop woodland creatures mid-chew. Translucent, veined with silver, they catch the light and scatter it into tiny rainbows whenever she moves—which, this morning, is often, and rarely in a straight line. She is still learning. Her turns wobble. Her landings resemble more of a controlled collapse than an actual landing. But her heart, when it comes to flying, has never once wobbled. She loves it too…
