𝐒 𝐓 𝐀 𝐑 𝐖 𝐀 𝐑 𝐒 | 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬 + 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐬

of what is free (and what is not)

(tw: zygerria)

:::

Something was singing.

It was a strange thing, the song: a chirping melody that spoke of spring days and summer nights; cool air drying soft skin in dusk that felt as liberating as a shining sun. But to Ahsoka, the sound felt far away. Far, far away -- far enough away to be eclipsed in winter's aching salve that felt as dry as the freshly cooled remains of a charred branch, abandoned at the edge of a forest; far enough away where abrasive desert winds tore holes through tunics and caressed chapped skin with scathing fingers of sand.

Far, far away from the free song of rose petals and melodies -- but it was so distant she could barely recognize the soft hint of spring; instead, she was trapped in the charred remains of a fire; embers crumbling to ash, and her eyes fluttering open and closed like the staccato of cinders raining down around dead flames.

In.

Out.

Breathe.

She was beginning to lose count of the familiar beat — which wasn't a good thing, seeing as how the steady rhythm — the sturdy cadence of her inhaled and exhaled breaths — was about the only thing keeping her from freaking out.

A warm breeze tickled her skin, pacifying the stubborn beads of sweat that held her in a suffocating hold, molding to her body and sliding down her skin.

The far away song continued.

The air was humid, but the sun beating down was hot — burning — and Ahsoka was suddenly thankful for the teasing wind, no matter how many bits of dry dust diluted its allaying balm.

In.

Out.

Breathe.

The metal beneath her was hot, and despite the scorching weather, she suddenly wished she had more of a barrier between herself and the scalding durasteel.

Mentally steeling herself, she flicked her eyes open for the second time upon her return to consciousness, soft melody still drifting through the air parallel the scorching heat. It had only been moments since she had first awoken, and her current predicament was still uneasily settling in.

Fresh rain and green grass, swaying in a warm breeze and flowing into her ears, and Ahsoka's eyes found the source; the spring of fresh, bubbling water gurgling through the heavy air -- and then the song; springtime and fresh air (and all that she wished; all that she wasn't) -- was flooded with abrupt silence of a winter storm -- and the bird flew away, leaving Ahsoka to bear the storm of silence and the gritting of teeth.

In.

Out.

Breathe.

Mind fuzzy and soft as the blue feathers of the bird now gone, the scratching breeze caressing her skin. The twist of her stomach and sharp pressure in her chest was making it hard for her brain to keep up its loyal mantra, and before she could fully take in her surroundings, her eyes flickered shut once more. She continued her hymn for another few moments, willing her mind and body to catch up with each other and get on the same page, as her hearing strained to brush upon the softness of spring, but was only being met with absence as stifling as the heat itself.

Breathe.

Her breath felt hot and sticky past her lips, but she hardly noticed.

Eyes. Open your eyes.