7 was the count. She didn’t know it was 7, she only knew that after those rapid pulls at the air with her wings she was soring into the sky. She knew that the ground below included ribbons of black that affected the way the winds moved over her wings. She saw one of those ribbons and curved her wings to send herself floating over the nearest edge. The tiny feathers on her face and neck, normally held down by the force of air as she flies, stood up just a tiny amount in response to a change in air pressure. She knows nothing of air pressure, only that such a feeling signals the moment when she must open her wings wide. As her wings fill with air she bounds up, up, up at an astonishing rate. She knows nothing of up or down, she knows only the exuberance which accompanies the change in altitude as she soars effortlessly into the ether.
Life in the reset