Blackfeather Woods Someday your bird is going to fly.

There they both stood, bleeding and breathing. Maegi gave him a soft look, then padded toward him. She lifted her chin to gently lave the blood from his cheek; her nose wrinkled slightly at the taste of it, but the comforting closeness of him outweighed that. Thus having cleaned him up a bit, she nestled her head into the crook of his neck, sitting back on her haunches.

It was theirs. All of it. And the world still spun, round—round—round.