Only
Eleven when she first was left on her own, staring down a beast with palms full
of red and tears stained pink as she faced death.
Eleven,
when swords flashed in front of her eyes and downy feathers fluttered around
her, a skilled guardian coming to her aid.
Eleven,
when emerald eyes glittered with confidence as the guardian spoke, crouching in
front of her and laying blood stained swords in the snow, reaching out with
ever so calm words and the promise of soft, silky down, and feathers to keep
her warm, a new home, her new home.