neonthewrite:

Bowman, the wildflowers are blooming!

A happy little voice piped up in his memory, trying to wake him from another sluggish rest. Bowman let the tears fill his eyes and blur the frightening room around as he called up the memory of a pair of bright golden eyes.

Birdie. He hadn’t seen his little cousin in more than a week. By now, everyone back home would assume he’d been caught by a predator, or hurt himself too badly to make it home. He wondered if she waited for him to fly home.