#( hi again!! apologies for the very belated nature of this starter slkfjfk

[flockrest]

♡ / @cyclebound

     It's only been two days since the healer's deemed him, ahem, "unfit to fly" on account of his wings being a little messed up from The Battle to End All Battles, and Tulin already feels like he could just about lay down and die.

     "I'm so jealous of you," he croons to the sparrows hopping along the railing he's slumped against — which is a new level of despair for him, for sure.

     Blizzards, being grounded sucks. Hearing the Windlines, feeling the Windlines, and being able to do anything but actually be with the Windlines must count as some sorta wild and highly effective torture. Doesn't help that the air 'round here tastes so unlike the air back home; Lookout Landing's breezes are less crisp, thicker, more swollen with the scent of roots and earth and the idea of having your feet stuck on the ground at all times. Not that it's bad, just...very distinctly different in a way that keeps Tulin's heart longing and aching. Even being as high up as he can get here with useless wings, at the town's huge, awesome scope, isn't comforting.

     He heaves a gusty sigh, startling his tiny companions enough that they flap away without so much as a bye. Ughhh. Stupid "no flying until further notice" rule. He strains to stretch a wing out, muscles stinging, before it's snapping back to his side at the footfalls he catches clacking up the ladder behind him.

     He quietly, desperately hopes it's not, for any reason, the healer. Or worse, Uncle Harth, whose annoyingly watchful eye he just slipped away from. Thankfully, it's not anyone he's really expecting when he turns — half 'cause it's still kinda strange seeing her so close-up nowadays, half 'cause, well, it's kinda impossible to see her by herself nowadays — but their presence is one he definitely welcomes!

     "Good day, Your Royal Majesty-Highness-Princess!" ( If a bit awkwardly. )