The Heartwood little bird

He wonders how many times she’s thought of how she ought to have left him to die—at the time, he wouldn’t have argued with it. Akin to a flame being snuffed out, that day is when hope died.
Forget about me already? He snaps, stepping forth uncaring of the damage it does to his paw. You forget all about him too? The anger boils up, thinking of the windwalker's last breath uttering her name.