Chapter Text
Purple was running away.
From what?
Nothing, really.
There was nothing to run away from.
Nothing, really.
Her dad had left.
Her mom had died.
The only possible thing to run away from would be responsibilities or her father coming back because she was underage and he had to take care of her.
But Purple was mainly running away because she felt lost.
And when you’re lost, alone, and have no parental guidance, you tend to make rash decisions.
Packing up her backpack halfway to the brim and flying away from the Wanlalla village was definitely a rash decision.
But it was being made.
She shoved a water bottle, a snack, a blanket, and the bracelet her mom had left her into her pack, and slung it over her shoulders, right over her wings. It slid perfectly into place.
All the backpacks in the Wanlalla village were modified to fit comfortably above one’s wings.
This was mainly because everyone had wings.
Purple looked at the window. She could just about make out her reflection if she ignored the sunset behind it.
God, the Purple in the window looked so beat.
Her tunic vest was ripped at the bottom, her thigh-plates looked ruffled, her wings were messy and dirty, and her horns… Those horns had been there for how long?
Well, how long had it been since Mom had died?
…
Purple sighed. She figured it would be smarter to go out with proper attire.
She forced herself to lower her backpack, and took off her thigh-plates. She threw them onto her Flight-Cloak and stared at it unconsciously for a moment, before sighing again.
Maybe a shower would make her feel less hopeless.
To make thirty minutes and twelve seconds a lot shorter, it didn’t.
After throwing on a new tunic, shirt, and travel leggings, she picked up the battered pair of thigh-plates. Purple grabbed her mother’s Mending Kit and sat down, fixing the plates and connecting the loose bits.
When she was done, she put them back on, as well as her Flight-Cloak, and shoved the Mending Kit in her pack, along with two pairs of her normal travel outfits. She forced her body to relax, and sank to the floor.
The reflection in the window stared at her, silently judging her decisions, the sunset behind it changing rapidly to night.
She glared at it, and fluffed out her wings regally, sitting up with a straight posture. Her wings were less dirty now, but they needed to be brushed and- well, taken care of.
She didn’t want to swerve mid-flight, did she?
No, I don’t, she told herself firmly, reaching for her brush.
Ten minutes of aggressive brushing later, her wings looked smoother, but more worn. They felt a bit more sore, too, but Purple didn’t care. After tossing the brush into her pack, she looked at the window again.
Window-Purple looked tired and pathetic, but still sturdy and ready to fly.
Purple pulled her backpack on and slid the window open in a practiced maneuver. She pushed her way onto the Window-Ledge, and the cold night air flew at her. She stretched her wings.
It was time to run away.
It was time to leave.
It was time to fly.
She spread her wings, crouched, and leapt off of the Window-Ledge.