She put it back with a sigh, then pulled her driver's license forward with the tip of her thumb... there was the feather. Moira lifted it out with reverence. He'd been so dreadfully serious when he handed it to her, wanting to be sure she kept it safe. She brushed it thoughtfully over her face, over the bridge of her nose and across the bow of her lips. It smelled of him: cinnamon and salt and spices not named by mortals, some strange incense or perfume, some natural holy musk exuded by his flesh. Leo was above and beyond the Ericas of the world, as a star is beyond a garden slug. I'd give almost anything to know what he's doing right now... The feather in her hand wavered and billowed, like a silk scarf in a high wind. Suddenly Moira could see Leo as clearly as if she stood beside him. The image lay over her vision, disorienting until she gave in and closed her eyes. The big silly creature had taken her longest towel and spread it on the porch to lay on, and was sunning himself with almost fully spread wings resting on the rotting grey boards.
