Home is where the floor is

-set at least a few days into the Blight-

Pain behind his eyes, everything was too bright against his closed lids. The world still felt as if it was moving. Nauseatingly so. His entire body ached as he lay where he had landed. He didn’t know how much wood or tree was over him, but breathing felt difficult. Winded from the fall, or too much weight on his body? Tears leaked free from the corner of his eyes. Tears of pain. He couldn’t move his wings. Pinned down, or broken? He had too much pain across his body to fully understand what he was feeling.

His treehouse was broken. He’d started something here. Gathering friends above his childhood home. One by one, his friends, his brother, had left. Now the treehouse itself… gone. As gone as his mother. So much pain. Physical, emotional. He couldn’t breathe.

Someone was smacking him. He didn’t remember blacking out, but one moment nothing. The next, a wolf before him. He blinked, opening his eyes. Openly, silently weeping. His breaths were short gasps. “Can’t move my wings.” He whispered. He was afraid, so afraid. What if he looked, and they were no longer there?


"Wylan"