"the echo of the nest life, the voice of our modest, fairer, holier soul, is audible only in a sorrow darkened bosom, as the nightingales warble when one veils their cage"

PART TWO:

As notified by his sister, Clint was sending updates to her regarding what was happening with the "civil war." Of course, Andrea knew most of the news already, the only information she found valuable at the moment was when Clint would be needing her assistance and where.

She was currently out practicing in the deep, vast woods she called her backyard. She had a large home, more modern style, isolated in a part of one of the many fifty states where she would not be bothered by a living soul.

Andrea enjoyed it this way. Being alone allowed her mind to escape and for her to just simply think without anyone nagging her. There was also the baggage of too much thinking, though.

She would overthink her past--that is, the not so good parts. She would have countless sleepless nights, caused by either nightmares or just plainly not being able to fall asleep. She would never be able to let go of what happened back then, for you can't rewrite history, but you sure as hell can repeat it.

That's what she was afraid of. She didn't want to relive that history that appears in her dreams during her cold, dark nights. She could never forget, and no one could make her.

Having the pleasure of isolation allowed the ex-assassin to do so much on her free time. She still had a job, working as an at home freelance writer.

Writing was one of her many ways of escape. She would also draw and paint, anything that had to do with creating. With the loads of free room she had in her lonesome home, she was able to assemble a mini art studio in one of the vacant rooms.

This was where she would go to write, turning on her playlists which consisted of movie soundtracks much like The Lord of the Rings and Titanic, finding the instrumental music quite relaxing.

The forest was her next escape. She was not a hunter, she would not shoot an animal for practice, no. She would sit near them, watching from afar. She often finds herself wishing the world could be run by these mellow creatures instead of the self-destructing creatures called humans.

Walking along a sturdy but thin branch in her knee-high lace up café brown boots, Andrea reached behind her, feeling the smooth feathers that aligned the tops of her arrows.

Taking one deep breath she started her run. Before hand she set up various targets along the trees, and now she found herself aiming at each one, not missing her target once. She was as agile as, say a panther, and as elusive as a nightingale.

Given the title from her brother, Andrea was known as the nightingale, and Clint the hawk. Soon enough the two birds would be reunited and in all honesty Andrea couldn't wait. It had been too long, she needed her partner back, she needed her hawk.

[a/n] i hope im not doing a shitty job, it's been so long