Ilyrain stilled at the whispered question, wings still half-canted. She lifted her head, but didn't turn back, fixed her eyes on the doorway and the dim glow of dawn beyond. Birds chirped, the wind rustled, and a stray leaf crunched under her talons as she dug them into the dirt. Don't look back.
She could see a million ways this could go wrong, pounding through her veins like poison. She could see a milion ways this could go painfully right. No futures where they grew old together; of course there weren't. She couldn't age, and her power would leech Vitta's life away inch by imperceptible inch. She knew that. Vitta knew that. The weight of destiny dragged her by the throat through every waking hour, and the gods were distant, and her visions were constant, and... Vitta was here.
Ilyrain looked back.