He thinks of her every time he sees a sparrow.
The shop is quiet when Asra enters. The sun is still high in the sky but she’s napping at the counter, a stray sunbeam falling over her where her head is resting on her arms. In her hair, nested comfortably, is her familiar. He’s just a little puff of feathers, and when Asra shuts the door he has to hold back a laugh as she and the sparrow startle at the noise.
“Welcome back,” she says, smiling, and the sparrow flits over and nests in his hair instead. “Did you find anything interesting?”
“Let me show you,” he tells her, and she and the sparrow peek curiously into the bag Asra places on the counter.
She’s always running after her familiar when he finds something to investigate; he’s incurably curious and while she would never want to change him, her exasperation is unending. Asra laughs when he sees her elbowing her way through the crowded market, desperately trying to keep one tiny sparrow in sight.
The baker calls out that she’d better move faster, and her annoyed response is lost in the noise of the crowd.
Faust naps in front of the warmth of the wood stove in a loose loop, a little bundle of feathers snoozing in her coils comfortably. Behind the familiars, she leans back against Asra while he runs fingers through her hair. He’s going to stay longer this time, Asra decides. He’s missed moments like this. He and Faust are both lonely without them.
Asra kisses the top of her head, and she turns around to return the gesture.
She’s always working, always reading, always helping, and Asra can’t shake the thought that she looks sick already. He wonders if she notices him checking her eyes, glancing her way over and over again just to be sure it hasn’t happened yet.
She never chases anything as innocent as her familiar anymore; she chases down death from clinic to clinic and through the streets until Asra begs her to stop. He wants to scream. He wants to tell her that there’s only one way this horror will end for everyone who stays, but he knows that’s the wrong thing to say - she’ll only run to death faster and farther, trying to save as many people as she can.
He wants her to be selfish. He tells her stories of places they could go, and she smiles, and her sparrow still flies to him and tugs on his sleeve when she’s too tired to get home alone.
When Asra leaves, the sparrow tries to tug him back through the door. Asra brushes him off and leaves her behind.
Her sparrow finds him worlds away from Vesuvia, in a place that’s beautiful and thriving. The familiar is so tired from the journey but he doesn’t stop - as soon as he’s close enough tiny claws are in Asra’s sleeve, trying to tug him back the way he came.
Asra removes the bird gently, holds that tiny, frantic heartbeat in his cupped hands. He thinks, for a moment, that the bird is trembling. But it’s him. His hands are shaking.
He knows what this means, but he has to ask anyway. “Where is she?”
The sparrow doesn’t answer, and she doesn’t come running after.
When she wakes up, there’s Asra and Faust and no one else. Sparrows still make him think of her. He won’t tell her why.
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