“I can’t do it Aerin—I can’t I just—“

“Hey, just take a deep breath.”

Flint, my brother, takes a deep breath. My *brother*

If thinking the word is bitter, I can’t imagine saying it.

He takes a deep breath, but I can tell that it hasn’t calmed him in the least.

He was a completely different person when I’d first met him in Casimir. He was quick, nimble, calm.

Now those quick eyes that were once used for his advantage are shifting uneasily, like he’s a calf about to be slaughtered.

The sky is clear today, leaving no protection from the sun. It glares down on us mercilessly, mocking our efforts to escape it.

I look over the edge of the dust covered cliff. It’s nothing but a dark abyss as far as the eye can see. Across from me, I can another cliff, faded and clay colored, 200 yards away.

There’s no way we can make it across without Flint being able to fly. I can’t carry him the whole way, especially since I’ve injured my wing.

I stretch out my right wing so I can examine my own faded white feathers. It’s sore, but I’ll make it.

I don’t have much to worry about, but Flint does. He stands a few inches farther from the edge, shaking visibly, his own metal, rusted wings clanking slightly with every shiver.

An old man in Casimir had made them out of rusted wheels and roof shingles. He had bent back the pieces of metal and melded them with such craftsmanship I didn’t have the nearest clue how to pay him.

That’s why I was caught off guard when he insisted on giving them to us for free. “Just let him fly again.” he coughed, patting me on the back.

Everyone in Casimir has their wings cut off as soon as they arrive. I can’t even fathom how painful it must be, to have them clipped off as if they’re nothing but fingernails. I wince at the thought, turning towards Flint, who’s still shaking with fear under the blinding sun.

“Hey.” I start, walking towards him as though I’m approaching a wounded animal. “We have to do this if we’re going to get home.”

Flint doesn’t say anything, his dark eyes hardening a little. He walks past me towards the cliff as I hold my hand over my eyes to give them a break.

Yet another gust of wind picks up a cloud of dust and carries it into the abyss toward Flint, whose fingers are finding the rusted lever positioned under his right arm.

He pulls it sharply, shooting the metal feathers outwards with a creak. The hot metal must be scalding by now, but I assume he’s used to heat. Casimir is nothing but a land wasted with fire and ashes.

I walk over to him as his metal wings outstretch fully. The wind is picking up now, and it pulls at some of the feathers, bending them in all different directions.

I too outstretch my wings, trying not to sound too mutilated when my right wing tightens up in pain.

Flint looks at me, his forehead beaded with sweat. “We should have stopped at Lorain’s, for your wing.”

“We don’t have time.” I remind him, clearing my throat “Ok. On three. 1.. 2.. “

“Wait.” starts Flint, “It’s just—it’s been so long since—“

“I know.” I say, trying to imagine the last time he’s flown. It was when he was ten, the day we revealed our gifts. The day he was sent away because his gift was considered dangerous.

“Stop saying that.” He shakes his head. “You don’t know. You fly almost everyday. Do you know how much of a privilege that is? And—and it was just taken from me. All because your ‘people of the Light’ were too afraid of a ten year old.”

“Flint.”

“And if I fly that just means I’ll have to face all those memories I’ve spent all these years burying—“

“Flint.”

“And if these metal wings that old man crafted were phony, and I start plummeting towards the ground, you can’t do anything about it because you messed up your own wing.”

“Flint.”

“It’s been so long Aerin, and I don’t know if I can.”

“This is how we get home.”

His silences. Home is one thing that keeps him together. We both lean over the edge, the dark abyss pulling us toward it like a magnet.

We leap.