Falling

The wind whistles in my ears, sends my hair whipping across my face and neck. I can still smell the smoke, even as the wind thrusts it violently behind me. Scorched feathers, singed flesh. Above me, the smoke is a dark spiral against the white of the clouds, and farther still the shimmering Gate, its light narrowing to a pinprick as it closes, leaving me outside. Forever.

That won't be a problem for long. Far, far below, so far that I can see only a green and blue smear, is the ground. Approaching.

I smile, the wind in my hair.