2024-07-10 - 027 - Winding

Azimuth's voice is a current, is the wind, is the constancy of movement

Invisible, but always felt.

Sometimes silent, sometimes howling.

Her voice winds it's way in, fluttery and sharp, and dissipates as quickly as it comes.

When she thinks hard enough on certain thoughts or emotions, it takes up a distinct note of them. Irritation is carried like grains of sand, love blossoms into flower petals.

She likes her voice. Azimuth considered it a promise, one that she intended to keep, One day, she would feel the real wind for herself, and finally be free of the stale, stagnant nothing of the hatching cavern.