The wind was always strongest the higher one went. Though at times unpleasant, rarely violent, but there were times, with even those with the strongest of wings, but retreat to the earth, and take shelter from the rage.
But at the moment, the wind was gentle, playing affectionately with the long strands of Yevetta's black hair, rustling her brown feathers as she strummed gently on her silver harp.
Feather patterns carded into the frame, giving it a wind like feel to it.
dark golden eyes closed, putting all her senses into the music she was presenting to the wind, and her mother.
Back strait, tail curled around, the tip patting lightly against her lap, her feet dangling daintily over the edge of a steep dropping hill, only those who were master climber, or would fly could reach,
Though not that high, she sat only twelve feet from the ground. But for the moment it would do, she did not feel the need to withdraw anymore from the earth this day.
