Fly Me to the Moon

“Aye aye!” he said, and leaned back, propping his front paws against the tree. He gave one last glance back at Satira. His wings were lightly fanned out either side for balance, and she was nestled against the nock behind his head and between the raised bumps where his wings began.

Moving before he could chicken out, he turned his head forward again and hopped up onto the first branch. His wings snapping with the light wind of his jump. His claws dug into the branch and helped to haul him over, and hold him steady on the length of it. The Dire wolf could only take the thickest branches. His journey up as an adult was different to that of child Mortis.

"Mortis Fatalis"