[ But Vergilius, Yi Sang thinks, even a flightless chicken will flap its wings, seeking to take to the skies. It dreams of the wind streaming through its feathers and pushes onwards in pursuit of that day.

And even after being ravaged by flames, out of the ashes come the fireweeds, the buckbrushes, the manzanita, the ferns, the mosses, the Illiamna rivularis with its gentle pink petals.

In time, the scorched earth may even sprout spicebush, beckoning other plants to rest their roots in the fertile soil. ]

To "find" means to rediscover something lost. No, it appears they were there all along, but I could not see them until confronted with my reflection.

[ Perhaps Vergilius' are made of glass, lying just underneath his skin. When they finally stretch to their full wingspan, they will inevitably leave blood in their wake. But there will be others to assist in wiping their surfaces clean, in bandaging the wounds, in soothing the scars. ]

...it is not unlike one's inability to view their own face without a mirror. Yet, it is wholly visible to others' gazes.

[ Vergilius might not be able to see his own, but that doesn't mean others can't. ]