“Mary hadn’t thought of what feelings looked like, and certainly never thought of how they connected. Even when rambling, the consultant was enthralling to her.”
You are not your body. You are you, an essence that merely inhabits your flesh and blood form. Just as you can inhabit your body, you can dwell in the Nimbus Trees. It’s our gift as the Phrumer Lasandra, we are the storms personified.”
Before all else, nothing was coincidental. Each avian felt a deep, reflexive understanding of their place like guests at a numbered party table. Seventy-one of them, Eleanor counted in gleeful shock. She had almost forgotten the age she was turning. Seventy-one, she recited in her head. She clung to the number like a beloved memento.