#peregryn

The crowd was bustling with life, with some faking their enjoyment and others lost in the faerie wine and pleasure. The elegant light of the throne room contrasted heavily from the dark corridors of the rest of the mountain. String music and piano drafted through the walls, enticing others to dance.

Most people were dressed in dark and rich colors, contrasting the Queen's stark white gown. Standing beside her throne, the High Lord of the Night Court observed, a lazy grin plastered across his features. He was decorated in tight black pants that matched his lose midnight tunic that exposed the swirls of tattoos across his chest.

Eris only huffed. Only in this world would Rhysand find his way out of this catastrophe. His court was brutish, full of nothing but lesser fae built only for war and rumors of constant torture escaping his land. There was no happiness in the court of darkness.

Eris observed the mingling crowd, paying special attention to his mother from the corner of his perspective. His mother, with her long auburn hair and russet brown eyes, looked into the crowd with a black stare atop his father's lap. The sight between them has become more common during these times, a tactic, Eris suspected, was another way to assert control over her.

Her emerald dress flowed from her, contrasting the perfectly tailored brown suit his father wore. Beron spoke boastfully towards his kin, sneering and laughing at the enjoyment of the night. Eris always festered a hate for the male in front of him - the short brown hair, beard, how his too-perfect appearance was another way to establish dominance to others surrounding him.

Eris faked a laugh at one of his father's jokes, something about females being inferior, and then swirled his fae wine. He took only a sip, never drinking too much, always on edge just in case. Between the threat of his father's temper or his younger brothers willingness to eradicate him from the throne, Eris never allowed himself too much pleasure. Whether it be sleeping too deep, drinking too much or enjoying anything - a female, a possession, a dream - Eris knew discipline was the only way to survive in the hellish world he was born into.

The party continued, the evening turning later, with two of his brothers disappearing towards the crowd, set on some High Fae females from the Winter Court, hoping for some company for the night. His father had left to talk with some associates from Autumn, loudly speaking about how great a High Lord he was for 'saving' his court from turmoil. His mother sat starring off in space, hand placed perfectly in her lap. Eris could have sworn every once in a while her gaze traveled to the newly appointed High Lord of Day, the details of why, Eris knew well.

Eris continued to sip from his wine, observing his brothers failing to gain attention of those Winter Court females, keeping his eye of his mother, and engaging in brisk talk with his younger brother, who of which was an impeccable duplicate of Beron. Not only in looks, but in personality and cruelty - the original fifth to the throne, now third in line, could be argued to have more of a brutal reputation than Eris'.

Then it happened...

A yelling - no, screaming erupted in the halls, slowing the voices to silence in the main room. All heads snapped towards the corridors leading towards different, unfathomable routes. The crowd began to part, making a path from the corridor straight to the red-headed bitch. There, her pointy ears perked upwards at the distressed sounds, and Rhysand narrowed his eyes towards the stone entrance. Before Eris set his eyes on the attraction, he noted a glint of amusement in Amarantha's gaze.

All eyes set upon an ugly Attor, drug a girl up towards the Queen, clawed hand digging into the hair of the girl. The girl could be no younger than 100 but no older than 200 years-old, with tan skin that glowed more than that of the High Lord of Day. Her brown hair was flecked with highlights of gold and reached to her mid-back, and bangs covered her forehead. Freckles, a rarity amoung fae, spread across her cheeks.

She bore a satin purple floor length dress, with a slit up the left leg and immaculate laced sleeves covering her arms. The leg that showed from her slit, showed thicker thighs than most fae females, less slender and more built out, with muscle hidden underneath her skin. She held a fuller face and body but was attractive in her own right - she had an allure to her, not in the seductive beauty that would be assumed, but in the soft and kind beauty her being projected. Her clothing choice, and the amount of intricate gold trinkets and jewellery decorating her gown and body identified her as hailing from the Dawn Court.

Eris swore he heard another shout, more masculine, coming from the crowd, as the girl came closer towards the black throne. Her screaming, was a mix of cuss words and a foreign language, and though it was indeed screaming, her voice did not go too loud. As she was drug across the red marble floor, she locked eyes with the High Lord of Dawn, Thesan, and a look of terror crossed both of their faces - they must be lovers or related if they cared about each that much, Eris thought to himself.

Thesan had the audacity to follow the Attor and the girl, on their heals the breath was stole from his body. He had brown hair curling over his head, brown skin glowing, though more pale than usual, and a slender build, dressed in tan flowing pants and a covered lose shirt. As they were seen closer together, it was easy to see the relation between them. Though the girl wasn't as slender as him, and seemed shorter than most fae females, she had the same nose and glow that Thesan radiated. Their cheekbones held the same structure and both had similar quiet attitudes surrounding them.

The High Lord of Dawn stopped as the Attor threw the girl in front of Amarantha, arms useless at his sides. A soft groan erupted from the girl while Amarantha smiled cruelly.

“What have we here… Dawn royalty?” She questioned.

Amarantha lounged on her throne, one leg crossed over the other, a hand under her chin in amusement. The girl had lifted her face, a streak of blood on her cheek and a bruise quickly forming on her face. The girl set her features into a school of coolness, her lips pressed and blue eyes set on the Queen, as if the girl thought she was equal of better than the Queen in front of her.

As their eyes interlocked and Amarantha raised a brow in challenge, the girl stood on shaky legs, standing to her full height and lifting her chin in acknowledgement, as if to say 'bring on your worst'. The Queen noticed the slight challenge, while Thesan, wild eyed, loosed a breath.

"Is it, that we have here," the Queen gestured to the crown with a wicked laugh, "The princess of Dawn, younger sister of the High Lord?"

Another gleam of statistic pleasure glossed through her eyes as she looked down at the princess, who though stood straight with posture perfected over time, set in her stubbornness, the girl was still just a girl, weak compared to the Queen. She appeared short and non-threatening, except for a glowing fire in her dark blue eyes, like she's held such battles before.

Eris admired the stubborned face she kept, and spared a glance at his father's curl of a smile, ready to see another cruel torture.

It wasn't main knowledge that the previous High Lord had sired two children, the now High Lord Thesan, and a daughter, of which little was known about. She was a marvel to the Court's royalty, and only made appearances in the Solar Courts balls. But even then, she was thought to be the perfect, silent virgin girl who still lived in a fantasy, adored by those who knew her in Dawn. In fact, Beron had tried to set up one of his sons with the princess, to gain a better alliance, only to be denied by her father with vicious intent.

“So,” the Queen stated, bored. “Have you a name? Or shall I take it out of you?”

The girl wasted no time. "Brie," she answered in a soft but stern tone, chin lifting higher and eyes narrowing. Her soft features were schooled into an unnatural stone wall, making her look older.

“Brie,” Amarantha tasted the name on her tongue. “And tell me, how did she get here?” She asked the Attor. 

He looked up at her, black smokey face turned into a wicked smile, sharp teeth pointing. His voice echoed like death, "We have finally caught her - found her secure hiding sport, in a small town called Aruna. She'd been leading the rebellion against us," he tsked.

"Don't worry, my Queen, the rebels were taken care of - in front of their majesty. They have been exterminated."

A look of sadness crossed her eyes, and regret. "She was also looking into ways to dethrone you, my Queen," the Attor was almost laughing at this, excited for the outcome.

A shadow glazed Amarantha's face, a threat to her power was the last thing she wanted.

"I supposed," she began. "Some more punishment shall be bestowed upon the Dawn Court. They did so wonderful," she said in a mock frown and baby voice, pouting her lower lip. "I know it was about time until someone tried again, but atlas, I am too powerful! I captured all the High Lords, what made you think you could take me down?"

A cackle rang out throughout the room, echoing into the stone routes etched into the walls. Thesan still stood behind the Attor, though he looked, truly, as if death had fallen upon him with what the Queen said next.

The Queen stood, long red hair coming in waves over her shoulders, the white feathers of her dress flaring out at the bottom and showing her cleavage at the top. She walked towards Brie, slowly but calculated. She caught Brie's chin in between her thumb and fingers, pulling her face towards hers.

"Perhaps you need a reminder of how kind I am," she suggested. "I could kill you, brutally, or I could kill your brother - who knows what other more suitable male would fill his position." A gleam of worry shown in Brie's eyes at the threat of her brother's life, with a twitch of her nose at Amarantha's jab towards her brother's sexuality - who was rumored to enjoy both females and males. Not a crime, or an oddity in this world, but certainly a scandal in the traditional court of Autumn.

"But I'll settle on this, so next time you, or your people, think of rebelling, you'll remember at what cost it comes with." Amarantha hummed before beginning her assault.

The Attor finally let go of Brie, as did Amarantha, landing her on her knees, a gasp leaving her throat. Amarantha worked herself, beating the girl with her magic and a metal bar that a cronie had given her in the middle of the process. The beating was lighter than the majority that had been seen, bit it wasn't until after Amarantha's abuse did people understand the full length of the punishment.

Brie sported a left elbow that fell at her side, loose and broken - more shattered, in every way - with bruises over her face, arms and legs. The elegant Dawn gown she wore was ripped in many places, now exposing her stomach, a bit of her undergarments (a black lace that left Eris' brothers snickering), and slashes across her collarbone. Blood stained the material darker than it already was.

The wounds did not heal, meaning she was under the influence of faebane beforehand. Brie gasped in pain, face distorted, and clung to her left arm with her right, and stayed kneeled over on the ground, barely gaining composure. She took the pain, with some screams flying out of her mouth, and now a few tears had escaped her eyes.

Thesan had stepped back towards the crowd by this time, an order from the Queen herself, and the previous glow he seemed to radiate was vanished by now. His face was also twisted in pain, his eyes showing a sadness. The Queen, covered in blood, smiled above the girl, throwing the metal bar across the room, hitting an innocent bystander.

"Rhys," She began. "Take her back to our room."

At that statement, the whole crowd knew the expense of her punishment. Brie's head lifted with a sort of panic in her eyes. Rhysand seemed to hesitate, almost, as if him and Brie had once had a connection, before grabbing her by the left arm, admitting a shriek from Brie. Thesan behold the sight, and in a matter of seconds Rhysand drug Brie down the path as tears escaped Thesan's eyes as well.

"Let this be a reminder," spoke Amarantha. "Of my kindness." A pointed look, and then she turned towards the throne, "Music!" she yelled, and everyone went back tot he ball as if nothing had happened.

The blood was still on the floor, but people walked over it in their returned mingling. Beron laughed and the sons of Autumn continued towards the females they set their eyes on prior. Eris' brother next to him, Rory, snickered, "Typical idiotic female. At least Rhysand will get a break from the bitch."

Eris played along, nodding his head, before swirling his wine again, gaze lingering towards Thesan, who turned towards a group of Dawn individuals. All the courts members looked distraught over the princess, and by the end of the night, Thesan and the other escorts, would return to their chambers early.

That night, as Eris escorted his mother to her and his father's bedchamber, his couldn't shake the girl, Brie, from his mind. As he laid in bed, looking up at the grey stone of his bedchamber, one more luxurious than others due to the Autumn's commitment to Amarantha, he remembered the events of her encounter. Her silent stubbornness, how her pain, despite controlled, erupted more pain in the Dawn's residents. Perhaps, having a sibling who was hurt from them being in pain was what having a sibling was supposed to be like. Instead of a relief, like it would have been between Eris and his brothers, another weight off his back.

Eris sighed, annoyed at the distraction - it was just another instance of the day. So, he closed his eyes, resting on the semi-cool bed.

That night his sleep had been worse than it usually was throughout his life, with dreams of a dewy countryside and soft clouds against a cobalt sky. A place only a few dreams in his life had taken him to, usually after his father tortured him - although none were as vivd as this nights was.

This dream was different, with a soft smile upon him and a delicate hand running through his hair, then down over his scarred back, in the dream. It could have been peaceful to others, but to Eris, the comfort was painful. Nothing was ever comfortable in his life, despite the palace of which he lived.

He awoke with a soft sweat coating his bare skin, and decided to splash some water on his face before returning to his bed, thinking, again, of the princess from Dawn.

As you stalked up quietly behind the High Lord of Autumn, you angled your blade to slice through Feyre’s hair. Your feet padded silently on the ice, the quiet taps unable to be heard over the clashing of blades.

In one smooth movement, you’d mirrored the position he had Feyre in, had your blade poised to cut, and your mouth by his ear. “Surprise,” you whispered, and sheared the High Lady’s hair clean off where it met Eris’ hand.

In another smooth movement, you’d clasped his wrists behind his back with one hand, forcing a knee into his back. “Hush now,” you whispered viciously, “and let the big kids discuss the mess you’ve made.”

His head turned slightly, his eyes meeting yours, and in that moment your worst dreams came true.

A thin ribbon of flame burst between your chest and the High Lord’s, and in an instant he had his wrists freed from your grasp and his arms around one of your legs. As he pulled it out from under you, everything went black.

—

When you woke, you were lying on red silk sheets in a bed-frame made of rich dark wood, in a room that looked fit for a god. Disoriented, you rolled suddenly off of the bed and onto your feet. Your wings shot out, attempting to steady you as you rose. The room, you now noticed, was spacious and lush, much like the bed, and decorated in shades of amber and ochre. The walls were cream with golden trim, as were the pillars that reached from the wood floors to the arched ceiling, and the wardrobe was draped in rich velvets.

The bedside table had a piece of paper on it, seemingly folded very carefully and set there. You picked it up reluctantly, unfolding it as though it were a bomb.

Y/N,

I understand that you may be a bit reluctant to get to know me after the way we met, but you and I both know what happened yesterday on the lake. I’m sorry for the way I had to get you here, really.

If you’d like to take more time to rest, feel free to shout anything you need out your door, which I’m afraid is locked. You understand why it’s necessary. If you’d like to eat, let me know when I come up to see you at noon.

Deepest apologies, Eris.

Not a soul dared step in your way as you plowed through the war camp.  "You will not be flying anywhere." You shouted over the murmuring group. Rhys' inner circle whipped their heads to you. Cassian's hand went to the dagger at his side instantaneously. You felt the spymasters shadows curling around your ankles. 

"You challenge me, I'm impressed." Rhys smiled like a cat, pushing off the table littered with pawns and a map of the region. Azriel's shadows curled further up your legs, taking the hint from his high lord. "Your spymasters eyes and ears seem to be doing an inadequate job." You said with distaste, glaring at Azriel. You tucked your feathered wings in tight, tension in the room spiking. Darkness flared, Azriels' shadows spiking over your legs, swirling angrily. 

Rhysand considered for a moment. None of the eyes left you. You dared not look away from the high lord. The piercing eyes of The Morrigan burned into you. Her silver armor shone even in the dull tent. "Leave us." He said at last, with a wave of his hand. His counterparts glanced at him, before obeying and walking out. 

Azriel stayed put, the shadows still circling the room like a fog. 

"I don't like being insulted, Peregryn." Azriel growled, his wings twitching.

  "I dont like dying, Illyrian." You countered. His face twisted in disgust. Rhysand sighed, taking a seat at the head of the table. You felt his aura inside your head, asking, tempting. They knew not many were a fan of their court, but so far you could really see the WHY behind it. 

"I understand you're a part of a different court but we are here fighting together against this threat." He spoke aloud, you felt his presence recede from your mind.  "If you don't want me to see what you have seen, how am I to know to trust you?" He smiled wickedly, as if he knew you would never let him in to your head. True, the night court and autumn court were not on the friendliest of terms. Especially after Thesan had made a public enemy of you for abandoning his court to help in the fight on the continent. 

"I understand fully that we are different courts, with different ideals working together. Perhaps your generals don't though." You nodded out the open flap of the tent. "Why my forces are going in first when there's an aerial threat beyond the border to Rask is beyond me. Perhaps you could explain." You said sweetly, pulling out the chair at the opposite end of the table and sitting. Azriel remained standing, his presence looming. He glanced toward Rhys, and they seemed to have a silent conversation in the looks alone. You had no doubt that he and the high lord were speaking mind to mind. 

"I can assure you there was no ill intent behind it." Rhys muttered, his eyes held no trace of lies. He had no tell , no body language that would suggest other wise as he spoke plainly. "As for the aerial threat, I will find Azriel here sees to it. If you are willing to help, of course." He swirled the glass of wine on the table, taking a sip. Azriel's face went a bit red. Likely mentally shouting at the high lord. "You understand, this assures I can trust your word and you're not trying-" He took a breath, humming as he let it out. Considering. Or putting on a show. It was hard to tell what face of him was the genuine one. "Well if you would let me in I guess I would know if you had any.. intentions." 

The silence seemed electrifying, Azriels shadows were swirling faster, whispering over his shoulder into his ear. His hair moved slightly in the presence of them. His siphons glowed, despite no direct threat. 

You stood slowly, standing tall in the presence of the two. "You know where my tent is, Shadowsinger." His face revealed nothing at your words. Rhysand saluted you mockingly. Chin held high, you strode out of the tent.

+ As soon as the sun had dipped below the treeline enough to cast shadows through the forest Azriel had appeared at your tent. The temperature seemed to dip slightly at his presence. "If you're ready we can go." He said, voice plain outside your flap door.

"And why wouldn't I be ready, shadowmaster?" You said with a charming smile, hoping it annoyed him. While pulling on your light armor, you stalked past him and to the edge of the forest. He seemed stunned momentarily, but caught up quickly. He matched your pace with ease.  

The hilly terrain made for an interesting forest pattern, but the area you remembered spotting the archers and arterillary trebuchets was very obvious. You dared not fly, with your wings so light colored against the darkened sky.  "We're walking?" He asked, his wings flaring. You crunched through the brush that lined the forest edge. 

"It's an aerial capture unit. They'll either shoot us down or take us prisoner until they get what they want." You said over your shoulder. "Is the Illyrian afraid of a hike?" You teased. 

You heard a grunt and he was suddenly right next to you, his footsteps loud as he adjusted to the rocky slope you were heading up. "I don't like being called that, you know." He muttered, his eyes straight ahead. 

Strange. Very strange for an illyrian indeed. Normally they were obnoxiously proud of their heritage like no other. It made you pause your comeback for a moment. you tried to remember the brief history of the night court you had been briefed on in training. Nothing was ever said about the high lord or his generals beyond their extraordinary abilities. 

You knew the Illyrian possessiveness first hand. Anger flickered inside you, remembering what they did to their females. The abusiveness of their court when it came to yours and your winged cousins. How cruel they were in battle. You couldn't stop the thought as it raced from your lips - "Not proud of the clipping or breeding, spymaster?" You growled.

He was on you in an instant. Had you pinned against the side of the grassy knoll a second after that. The air left your body at the impact against the dirt burm. Your wings splayed out behind you on instinct, trying to balance you. His were as well, using them as extra force to hold you there. Your hand was at your dagger, but you didn't feel the need to use it, his grip loosened.

"Fuck. you." He bit out. You saw his hands as they gripped your armor. Scarred lines lay on his fingers, the back of his hands up to his wrist. They were a lighter color than the rest of his dark skin. Ridges puckering together like soft peaks of a mountain range. The sounds outside of your breathing together seemed to stop, his sharp tone silencing the woods completely. His eyes seemed like an endless pit, despair and malice under their shallow surface. 

He shoved off you with a sigh, and continued down the trail. Wings snapped in tight behind him. You dusted yourself off and followed under the cover of nightfall. 

+ The group of fae and beasts was getting exceedingly more and more rowdy as the night went on and the barrels of mead emptied. You didn't doubt the reason being that they thought your forces wouldn't move in the night. Not with so many foot soldiers that could be picked off in the forest by...unknown creatures. You shuddered at the thought of such things. The group was no more than thirty large, probably to winnow faster. Every pair had a weapon or a net weighted with stones that would nullify any magic. The arrows were likely poisoned as well. The trebuchet was packed with stones, boulders and what looked like wooden nails. They were planning for maximum damage.

"You take east, I'll go by the river." You whispered behind him, knowing that his shadows would pick it up if he didnt. The enemy campfire flickered in front of him, making his silhouette glow from where you crouched. His only response to your plan was a slight nod. You left him to it, creeping through the trees, avoiding leaves and fallen twigs that would make more sound than the soft pine floor. The fog of shadows whipped in a flurry around you as departed him. They stayed with you until you were firmly in the trees, the bubbling stream of the river loud enough to cover your tracks.

His signal to attack was subtle, but it worked. At first it seemed like their campfire had begun to sputter and smoke, leading to them quieting. Then, two decapitated heads were flung into the middle of the crowd circling the pit.  A rustling from where Azriel originally stood had them scrambling for weapons, sticks, swords. Anything they could find. Then he sliced into three of their knees from behind. You were diving into the fray when the group had finally gotten their defenses up. 

+ The snarls died out one by one. Azriel finished off the final Attor when a blinding pain in your back hit you. Your first instinct was to stab. The fae that stood behind you held your dagger in her stomach, looking you in the eye. The wooden steak at their side dropped to the ground. Her lips parted in a wicked smile as she pushed your knife deeper into her own stomach. "Death." She hissed. You felt the blood drain out of your face. She raised her other hand and was bringing it down when Truth Teller sliced clean through the neck. The hand dropped, as did the rest of the body that held your knife. 

Pain returned to you as soon as the head stopped rolling on the ground. You could feel the blood dripping... not from your back. You let out a roar of anguish, trying to fold your wing inward. Your feathers were stained a dark red. It looked black in the dim light. Azriel was on you in a second, without a word he had his hands on you, your wing. 

Pain dazzled you in more ways than you ever thought possible. It burned, it stung, it ached. It was enough to make you pass out for a few moments while Azriel carried you closer to the fire. "Fly- Me-" You panted between words. "Healer." You barked, letting your wing hang limp at your side. Azriel was assessing behind you. Slowly, methodically. Coolness encapsulated your wing. It was a slight relief against the burning.

"I cant fly with you if you can bring your wings in. And we need to get this out before it spreads, its poisoned..." He paused, hissing at whatever he was seeing. There was a pinch and he had a hand on the firm ridge, bending slightly. " Its in too deep to hope for a healer to recover by the time we get there too." he finished, working delicately around your feathers.

He was gentle, and firm while he did his best to get the bigger spikes out. You could feel the smaller slivers digging in whenever he bent your wing a different angle or if you tensed it at all. It began to itch as the fire died, casting you in darkness. "Dammit." He sighed, getting up. You hadn't realised how bad the gash was until you looked over your shoulder to see the pile of splinters he had gotten out so far.

"I may have left some in there, just don't move alright?" He stroked the curve of your wing. It sent a thrill through you that made your stomach flip despite the pain. "I'll be back in a minute. Just... stay put. Please." He added, then he was gone.

Your eyes grew heavy while you stared at the embers glowing in the fire. Thinking of Rhysand and his smug smile kept you awake. You couldn't wait until his own general proved him wrong. And proved the group was very capable of taking out winged foes, apparently. You sighed, then went rigid. A crack of sticks sounded. You panicked, knowing how treacherous the forest was without an extra pair of eyes looking out for you. You flung yourself to the fae woman's body, clawing for your dagger still embedded in her stomach. Your wing drug behind you, limp and aching. 

"What the hell are you doing?!" Azriel gasped, dropping the pile of wood next to the fire pit as he came into view. 

"You're a bastard." You groaned, wishing you could just lay down and wake up from this nightmare of pain and terror. "You're terrible and I hate you. So much." You panted, dropping the dagger. It rolled on the dirt beside you. 

Once he had you set back up where he could see properly he began the more painful process of removing the splinters. You doubted any monsters in the dark would come lurking with the sounds you made.

"For some fucked up hands they do delicate work." You ground out through your teeth. He paused for just a second. A sharper pain than normal twisted through the wing. You laughed slightly at that, despite the pain. 

"Well- for some fucked up wing you sure do have a mouth still." He chided back. "I told you to just stay put and you crawl ten feet away. And get dirt under your feathers on top of that." He sounded like he was smiling. 

"I didn't know you were such a neat freak, Shadowsinger." He huffed a laugh, continuing to patch you up.

"My mother was. My actual mother." He said softly. He was solemn for a moment. You wished you could see his face as he spoke. "My step mother's children are the ones who did this to my hands." His voice was near a whisper. You nodded, causing a shooting pain through your back and the area he worked on. "If I have to tell you to hold still again I'll just knock you out." He warned, putting a hand on your shoulder.

+ Once he was satisfied with his work, he stepped back and helped you fold your wings in. It was stiff. It felt like a part of you had been cut off. An unusable part that acted only to slow you down. You despised it. The pain radiated through to your back once you pulled them in. Fear struck you at that. Weakly, you turned to him. 

"I cant-" You bit back tears. You hated the words as they came out. "I cant fly." You muttered, your throat tightening. 

Silently, he held a hand out to you. An invitation. 

He was even more delicate while flying, gliding on the air as much as possible and keeping your weight balanced so you wouldn't jostle your injury too much. It was still uncomfortable. The base camp was miles away, with differing terrain. You hadn't realised how far it was until you were overhead and couldn't see the light from the camp anymore.

"I'm going to call you feathers after this." He said, the air around you almost drowning him out as he flew as quickly as he could. The pain spiked at the pinch of folding them in, but it wasn't as unbearable. 

On the brink of sleep, you trudged your mind back awake to respond to him. "What do you mean?" You groaned, letting your head fall on to his shoulder. Exhaustion was quickly sweeping over you. A glance up at him and you saw the worry in his features. He pinched the back of your thigh slightly, provoking you.

"Feathers seem like a pain in the ass. Going around them, cleaning them, trying to... maneuver them?" He adjusted his grip on you slightly, pulling you closer. His heart hammered in his chest, you could hear it. "Stay awake for me, asshole." He was gliding lower now, his words were clipped.