Lyra's Gentle Counsel

Lyra found Skye near the sun-dappled stream, her sleek, russet-and-ochre plumage ruffled as she stared at the water’s surface. The usual spark in her emerald eyes was dimmed, replaced by a thoughtful, almost melancholic haze. Lyra approached with the soft, silent tread that was their kind’s natural grace, her own obsidian scales shimmering faintly in the afternoon light. She settled beside Skye, their flanks almost touching, a silent offering of companionship.

“The water is cool today,” Lyra murmured, her voice a low, melodious rumble. It was a simple observation, an opening, a way to invite Skye to share whatever troubled her.

Skye sighed, a puff of warm air escaping her nostrils. “It is. But it doesn’t wash away the thoughts, Lyra.” She flicked her tail, a nervous gesture. “The elders… Elder Ror especially. His gaze feels like a physical weight. Every time Kael and I are near each other, I feel it.”