A week passed, and then another, the days blurring one into the next. I'd taken to spending the days with Luke, studying my notes on the southern continent, aiding in the reconstruction, or just wandering the gardens and markets that had survived the devastation.
Occasionally, as the sun began its descent into the canopy, we'd drift lazily through the clouds, born wherever the evening breeze carried us. It wasn't that I actually liked flying; no, I still couldn't look straight down, no matter how tight he held me, but he was holding me, and that made it bearable. I'd even begun to enjoy the feeling of the wind in my hair, the solitude of the skies, and the endless expanse of sky overhead.
"Thank you for humoring me," Luke murmured as we flew on one such occasion, some fifteen days after my vision. He carried me as he always did, an arm under my knees, the other encircling my back, cradling me to his chest. "I know you don't like it, but...thank you."
