Liv laughed at her accent and stifled the flush of excitement that came at her words. She said a mental prayer and tried to relax. Once she and her mom had been walking through a park when she had been maybe 9. A fluttering in the fresh spring grass had caught her eye and she ran toward it and knelt down, the feel of her mother's protective presence behind her.
There, among the nascent blades moved a tiny sparrow, feathers small, beak opening and closing, small wings trying to heave itself on the ground. Her mother's hands had gone to her shoulders as she explained what had happened. The branches were too high for her or her mother to return it to its nest.
Still, she had insisted and her mother flagged down one of the groundskeepers to help it. At least that was what she thought had happened. Now that she was older, she suspected that man hadn't been able to do anything and her mother knew it. It was a cruel world and Liv wasn't ready to learn that yet.
Only now Liv felt as if she were the little bird, only she had been returned to the nest, had seemed to heal. Looking over the edge of the safety of the nest, the ground seemed very far below. And she had been scared. But she had jumped anyway. She was here now, testing her wings.
Just fly. That's all she needed to do. Fly. Nothing else.
It was hard, though, as she stared into those dancing eyes. She swallowed, wanting to shift the subject.
She turned to view the monastery. The red stone buildings, soaring towers and steeples bright against the warm blue sky.
"Shall we?", she said, Nika's fingers laced through hers. It made her nervous and so she tried to shift things to areas she felt more comfortable in. She talked of the history of this place. She had been an art history major, not architecture, but she had been here enough times. Its history was filled with highs and lows. Under the Soviets, sadly, the place had been used as a prison and orphanage. Thankfully, after the fall it had been restored to its glory.
She fell quiet after a while. "It’s a pretty place anyway," she said after a moment. The journal was in her other hand. Her hand itched to put pencil to paper for the first time in over a year.. And yet she was terrified at the same time.
The look of disgust on Laila's face as she tore up her drawings had stabbed at her, the bloody heart wounds far worse than the bruises she'd hidden.
It had taken so long to build up the courage. But this had been where God had found her, under the stone staircase, weeping, ready to die. Where her angel put her wings around her in an embrace. Where she felt the warm endless river of her love pour through her, bringing the world to life.
She looked at Nika. She'd felt that river again when she’d kissed Nika. She was scared. But she had faith.
A deep breath. Another leap. "Can I sketch you?"
There, among the nascent blades moved a tiny sparrow, feathers small, beak opening and closing, small wings trying to heave itself on the ground. Her mother's hands had gone to her shoulders as she explained what had happened. The branches were too high for her or her mother to return it to its nest.
Still, she had insisted and her mother flagged down one of the groundskeepers to help it. At least that was what she thought had happened. Now that she was older, she suspected that man hadn't been able to do anything and her mother knew it. It was a cruel world and Liv wasn't ready to learn that yet.
Only now Liv felt as if she were the little bird, only she had been returned to the nest, had seemed to heal. Looking over the edge of the safety of the nest, the ground seemed very far below. And she had been scared. But she had jumped anyway. She was here now, testing her wings.
Just fly. That's all she needed to do. Fly. Nothing else.
It was hard, though, as she stared into those dancing eyes. She swallowed, wanting to shift the subject.
She turned to view the monastery. The red stone buildings, soaring towers and steeples bright against the warm blue sky.
"Shall we?", she said, Nika's fingers laced through hers. It made her nervous and so she tried to shift things to areas she felt more comfortable in. She talked of the history of this place. She had been an art history major, not architecture, but she had been here enough times. Its history was filled with highs and lows. Under the Soviets, sadly, the place had been used as a prison and orphanage. Thankfully, after the fall it had been restored to its glory.
She fell quiet after a while. "It’s a pretty place anyway," she said after a moment. The journal was in her other hand. Her hand itched to put pencil to paper for the first time in over a year.. And yet she was terrified at the same time.
The look of disgust on Laila's face as she tore up her drawings had stabbed at her, the bloody heart wounds far worse than the bruises she'd hidden.
It had taken so long to build up the courage. But this had been where God had found her, under the stone staircase, weeping, ready to die. Where her angel put her wings around her in an embrace. Where she felt the warm endless river of her love pour through her, bringing the world to life.
She looked at Nika. She'd felt that river again when she’d kissed Nika. She was scared. But she had faith.
A deep breath. Another leap. "Can I sketch you?"