The newest book from Black Wolf’s Imaginarium is a love story about a black bear masseur and his client, a Pegasus model whose agent thinks he’d be more “bankable” if he cut off his wings. Here’s the first chapter (purchasing info at the end).
Because You Have Wings
He always asked for me. I told myself I never really knew why. For the most part, I’m just an old (okay, not too old) black bear who can do his job well, no one particularly memorable. I like to think that I give my clients something special, even if it’s not a “happy ending.” Quite apart from the risk of violating the idiotic and unconscionably male-biased laws against prostitution, I just don’t enjoy the idea of getting paid for sex. I am a little too old to think that it’s “just sex” anymore. There’s always that possibility, sure — the back room of a certain pub, or the male’s room stalls of various establishments, or places in the park whether day or night, or even in the back of a bus or tram or subway train, if it’s reasonably deserted. Fast, furious, anonymous, sometimes even exciting. But always empty. Besides, when you do what you love just for money, both suffer.
It’s possible that he asked for me because I took special care of him. Again, nothing sexual. I just feel that, if one is to plunk down some bucks for a bit of pampering in a spa, one should be able to expect great treatment, from massage to grooming. It’s the grooming that turns the trick, though. Leaving the spa feeling beautiful, glorious, glowing with health, confidence, and more than a little sex appeal… that’s my goal for my clients. Having spent a good number of years at my trade and craft, I’ve learned some things that have made me notable in a quiet way. My expertise is neither cheap nor outrageously expensive; I get by on what I make (a bit more than just get by, truth told), and I’ve learned not to expect too much from this world. I work hard, and it was my reputation that eventually drew him into the spa, perhaps because he knew about my special grooming talents. Few enough of our clients are feathered, and so far as I knew, he was the only one who had feathers as well as a full and beautiful coat, mane, and tail.
“Gavin? Manny’s here.”
I pressed the key on the intercom. “Send him back, would you, Celeste?”
“On his way.”
The thick carpeting laid throughout the spa is designed both to feel good on the hindpaws and to muffle sound, for those clients who have non-retractable claws or hooves that might click or clop on a bare floor. I couldn’t hear him, but I could sense him getting nearer. Hallways here are wide, ceilings and doorways are tall, yet I sometimes thought that he could fill them with his heart alone, much less his physical presence. He strode into my parlor, unpretentious yet stunning, even with his wings furled. Magical because of rarity, if nothing else, a Pegasus is always awe-inspiring.
He bent from his height of something over two full meters, his arms outstretched to receive the “bear hug” that we had shared almost from his first visit. Smiling warmly, he tucked his equine chin over my shoulder, confident that I would not try to wrap my arms around his wings. He shifted them slightly so that I could reach under them to complete the hug. Even through his clothing, I could feel the warmth of the summer’s heat radiating from him.
“Good to see you, Emmanuel,” I told him. I could never bear to hear so beautiful a name shortened to Manny.
“Very glad to be here, Gavin,” he murmured in my ear. “I could use more than a little pampering today.”
I pulled back to eye him quizzically. “You okay?”
“I will be.” He sighed, a tired smile on his face. “Nothing to worry about, especially when I’ve got such a great chance to really relax. How about I strip off?”
“Of course,” I said. He moved behind the screen as I set up the station for him. I’ll admit that I’m a bit privileged here, with not one but two massage and grooming treatment rooms. Emmanuel wasn’t my only client who was, shall we say, vertically gifted. Ours was one of the few spas in town that could cater to those well over two meters tall. One of my regulars is a highland bull who not only stood nearly 250cm but also had one of the shaggiest and nearly untamable coats in the known galaxy. I always was able to clean him up brilliantly (not just my own opinion, that), but we did require some special drains and grooming supplies to deal with the copious quantities of excess fur. He was so happy with the work that he allowed photos of himself in our various advertisements. He autographed one for me, and it appears, oversized and framed, in pride of place on my wall of satisfied customers.
In moments, the good-looking, well-formed, and completely unclothed Pegasus had arranged himself, belly down, on the oversized massage table, an extra-large towel draped over his backside. He was a study in raw beauty, with his coat of the finest, smoothest caramel; his mane, tail, and hoof feathers a white-golden blond; and his wing feathers white like moonlight and polar ice. Spread wide, those wings were easily seven meters from tip to tip; for now, they were comfortably furled, and he’d move them when I got to the point of rubbing down his back. He had already settled his large head into the padded ring that I had set in place for him and, his white-blazed nose pointed to the floor, he said, “Don’t hold back, Gavin. I think I might need a sledge hammer to loosen up these shoulder muscles today.”
I activated the pod in the stereo setup, playing the original Syntonic Research sounds of ocean waves, knowing that it was his favorite. Padding around to the head of the table, I found the ready supply of the special massage liniment that I kept available for him. I put some onto my forepaws, rubbed them together to warm up the liquid. The scent of fresh apples wafted gently on the air, and I heard him nicker slightly at the scent. As cliché as it sounded, he did love his apples. “Good evening, folks,” I echoed the old comedian. “I just flew in from Jersey, and oy, are my arms tired.”
That fetched what was best described as a horse laugh, but even that was cut short when I applied my large bear paws to his shoulders. What came out was more like a moan, and it made me smile, as it did every time. It’s always a joy to be appreciated, and Emmanuel was never stingy with his praise, verbal and otherwise. The liniment made his beautiful coat glisten; the formulation would rinse out easily, still leaving the glow behind. His shoulder muscles were indeed terribly tight, and I made sure to use the balm to its best advantage. I dug my thumbs firmly into the worst spots; the deep massage, combined with the soothing sounds of crashing surf, was helping him to relax completely. “That’s starting to feel better,” I observed.
“Can I get an AMEN, brothers and sisters?” He chuckled softly. “It’s wonderful, Gavin, thank you.”
I kept up the massage across his shoulders and neck, being careful around the base of his wings. “Would you like to talk, or maybe you’d like to have some peace and quiet today?”
“As if you could keep quiet.” I could hear the grin in his voice. We both knew what a chatterbox I can be.
“Just wanted to know if you wanted to talk for a change.” I hesitated in my speaking, my paws never stopping. “You seemed to have a problem on your mind. I’m like a bartender, in that sense: The psychotherapy is part of the service.”
That got another chuckle from him. He seemed to consider for a moment, then asked, “How are you with relationship problems?”
“Depends on the problem.”
“Ain’t got one.”
I nodded. “Yeah, that’s a problem. Neither have I.” I got some more liniment on my paws and moved around toward the middle of the table. On cue, he raised his wings a bit, and I worked on his spine and his powerfully-formed back muscles. The hoss could model for Gray’s Equine Anatomy. I could hear appreciative grunts as I worked, using the sounds to help me know how to apply the proper pressure. “Any prospects?”
“Maybe,” he said, grunting as I worked on what felt like concrete supports in his lower back.
“Good grief, Emmanuel, what have you been doing to yourself?”
“Rugby.”
“As the Python lads would put it, say no more.” I adjusted the towel slightly so that I could reach the area at the base of his tail. “You’re not keeping a record of your injuries as a trophy, are you?”
“You mean the sprained flexor tendons, the twice-broken arm, the once dislocated shoulder, the rebuilt teeth — ya know, two of those were 3D-printed, right there in the office — and the various stitches in various locations? No, not keeping a record at all.”
My considered response was a playful yank of his tail. “You cover it all up very well.”
“The miraculous healing of Percheron ancestry, no doubt.”
“I thought you stemmed from Clydesdale?”
“Old family secrets.” He paused. “Um… would you…?”
“Glutes sore?”
“Yeah.”
“No problem.” I fetched more liniment, then came back to pull the towel back discreetly. I applied my paws properly, professionally, and resisted the temptation to drool. I smiled at myself, once more appreciating that Emmanuel trusted me, knowing that I’m gay, always impressed by his physical presence, and even more impressed by those astonishingly wonderful buns. There are proper, therapeutic ways to massage the gluteal muscles, and I applied my knowledge with care, professionalism, and discretion. For example, I discreetly refrained from whistling while I worked.
“So,” I said, trying to focus the earlier part of the conversation. “A ‘maybe’ in the offing?”
“Possibly. I don’t know quite what to do.”
“Start a conversation; that’s usually the best way. Do you have a chance to do that?”
Another pause. “Yes. I guess I’m just scared to try. I mean, how do you know when someone is actually interested in you?” He nickered in self-deprecating amusement. “Guess that’s not exactly a new question, huh?”
I finished bear-fondling his glutes and put the towel back over him before I started work on his massive hamstrings. I was already sweating a bit; a proper massage can be its own workout. “You’ve been in relationships before,” I observed casually. “We’ve talked about a few during your sessions here. How did those get started?”
“About what you might expect, sadly enough.” He coughed, hesitating. “It sounds vain as hell if I say it.”
“You’re beautiful, Emmanuel. You’re rare, good-looking, and you have an aura of kindness and warmth about you that makes you very attractive.”
“Okay, I wasn’t going to say all that much.” Again, I heard the smile.
“It’s okay for me to say it. You aren’t vain enough. Or perhaps arrogant enough. It’s all true, though, and there’s a difference between vanity and being realistic. Let’s just say that you’re clearly very attractive indeed.” I turned my muzzle back toward him to make sure he could hear me. “Which flexor tendon did you sprain, and how long ago?”
An ear flicked backward, although I was sure he could hear me well enough. “Both of them, more than once, but not recently. I appreciate the caution.”
“I’m not here to hurt you.”
The great Pegasus was quiet for a while as I worked on his lower legs, paying careful attention to the tendons. I saw evidence of his wearing a protective boot on his left leg for a while, perhaps while playing, but I knew that such boots were difficult to fit on Clydes and, wings or no, he had the general anatomy of his ancestry. I suppressed an urge to tell him to take better care of himself. He was no mere foal, in any sense of the term.
I patted his rump through the towel. “Roll over for me, eh? Careful, don’t slip and slide.” I discreetly turned my back, as I did for all my clients as they shifted. Towels are notorious for not staying where they belong during such maneuvering. Occasionally, they fall to the floor, and I had perfected a means of bending carefully, picking up the stray cloth, and passing it back behind me without turning around. Most of my clients (including Emmanuel) weren’t nearly so shy as all that, but it allowed me to say that I never treated my customers in anything other than a strictly professional manner.
“All set,” he said.
I turned around to find him properly adorned, smiling softly at me. I never figured out how he could be comfortable sprawled on his back, even with his wings very slightly unfurled so that he wasn’t lying directly on them. Clearly, he must have been able to work it out over the years. I slipped a small pillow under his head so that he wouldn’t have to nestle it entirely into the ring. “I’m going to take some time with that mane today,” I said. “Found some new conditioner I was hoping to try out on you.”
“Tail too, I suppose?”
“Of course; got to have you matching, after all.” I got more liniment onto my paws and moved to stand over his head, reaching down to begin massaging his impressive pectorals. “So, where were we?”
“Talking about how wonderful I am,” he grinned.
“That’s a topic that would run the clock on your session, pony!” I grinned back.
He grunted softly as I moved my paws outward toward the delts, continuing to make his luscious caramel coat glow as if freshly poured from the candy-maker. “Do you really think so?”
I paused for a moment, looking at him from my upside-down perspective. “You’d be the last person I’d suspect of having self-doubts.” I shook my head. “I’m sorry; I just trod all over your feelings. I only meant…”
“I know.” His soft smile returned, looking lovely on his velvety lips. “I’ll take it as a vote of confidence.”
“At the very least!” I smiled, moving to his right side, putting his right forepaw on my shoulder as I began to work the muscles of his arms. “Can you tell me what you don’t feel confident about?”
“Do you know what I do for a living? I stand around and look pretty.”
“You’re an artist’s model, and you sometimes do advertising and photographic spreads too.” I tapped his nose with a teasing finger. “Don’t put yourself down. It’s a perfectly respectable job.”
“And it pays well, too. Usually.”
I caught a bit of melancholy in his voice that I didn’t understand at that moment. “I guess I should be grateful for trickle-down economics then.”
He fetched a playful and utterly painless slap at my face with his right forepaw. I laughed softly as I lowered his arm to his side and laid it carefully where it covered part of his wing. Moving around to his other side, I took his left arm and began working it as I had the right.
“They think I’m an idiot.”
“Who?”
“The people in those art classes. The ad execs. Everyone around them. I’m just the dumb and pretty wingie-horsey.” He sighed softly. “Heard someone say that the other day. ‘Wingie-horsey’.”
I rubbed down his strong biceps and triceps, honed and expanded with the pride of repeated and well-crafted workouts. “Someone doesn’t know the word ‘Pegasus’?”
“No wonder we’re such a dying breed.”
My face turned to his, brows furrowed. “What…?”
“No, not dying. Not really. Just… rare, I guess.” Some of the light went out of his eyes as I lay his arm down. He didn’t speak further as I worked on his thighs and lower legs; I had the feeling that he was weighing something in his mind and, for once, I didn’t let idle talk interrupt deep thought. Moving at last back around to his head, I put a paw to his forehead and rubbed gently, the coup de grâce of my profession. He closed his eyes and sighed. I think it was one of contentment with the massage, but still, that sense of melancholy lingered.
“Rest for a minute,” I said. “I’ll get some rinse ready.”
I went to the sink to prepare some mild soap solution in hot water, to help get any excess liniment out of his coat. Much of it would sink in to relieve the muscles, or even just evaporate, as it’s supposed to do, but there’s always a bit left. Some clients prefer to shower, while others, like Emmanuel, enjoy the luxury of being sponged down. I had to be careful about how much and what kind of soap I used; his feathers had oils in them that wouldn’t do to be stripped off. I had a very special cleaning and grooming process for anyone with feathers; the Pegasus was a greater challenge, as he had both hide and feathers to tend to, and I had to keep things toward separate.
“…cut them off.”
I spun around quickly, certain that I could not have heard what I thought I heard. “What did you say?”
“My agent. He said I should cut them off.”
“What?” I dropped the materials into the sink, water still running, to stand by him. “Emmanuel, you can’t be serious… cut off your wings?”
“It would make me more bankable. More mainstream.”
“It would make you mutilated! It would make you…” The frustration in me stole my words. I took his chin into my paw and looked at him intently. “Emmanuel, you can’t. You mustn’t. I beg of you, don’t even think about it.”
He said nothing, and after a few moments, I went back to the sink to finish the preparations. My forepaws were shaking. I couldn’t tell you why I was so horrified, so repulsed. My stomach churned violently; I actually thought I was going to vomit. I wanted to find Emmanuel’s agent and beat him senseless. How dare he even broach the idea, give it the slightest credence? And yet, even in my fury, I had the sense that this wouldn’t have come up for the Pegasus unless something else was happening. This was not something that came out of nowhere.
I took the plastic basin of warm soapy water back to the table and, large soft loofa sponge in paw, began to clean off his chest and arms. “Would you really want to do that?”
The large equine didn’t answer for a long time. I bathed his firm belly, moved down to his legs, waited anxiously until he finally spoke.
“I was called a freak when I was a kid,” he said. “I never knew my parents, and… you know most of it already.”
I did. A tale of orphanages and foster homes, a string of horrible schools and a brush with the darkest side of everything. I had told him often how glad I was that he didn’t succumb to all that, and that he’d found legitimate modeling instead of porn, drugs, and prostitution. I knew a lion who wasn’t so lucky, who fell into the trap of his pretty golden mane, until age and abuse caught up to him, and he could face it no longer. I still light a candle each year on October 6, the day of his suicide, the day that his fleeting beauty finally murdered him. I couldn’t bear to think of Emmanuel in that kind of pain.
“It’s not like they’re necessary or something. Not like I can really fly. I mean, I’ve heard about other Pegasi who have had it done. It’s a fairly short recovery time, surprisingly. It shouldn’t show scars, and my recovery would include all of my workout routine, so I could keep my figure…”
“Stop.” I said it softly and without emphasis. I just couldn’t bear to hear anymore. I tried to put the basin down gently, but it fell to the floor just as I did. I sat hard on the tile floor, the contents of the basin flowing into the drain under the table, and I sat in a hunched ball and cried.
“Gavin!” I felt more than saw the Pegasus move off the far side of the table and come around to me, kneeling next to me, his powerful arms pulling me against his huge muscled body, holding me tightly as I shook with uncontrollable sobbing. “Gavin, I’m sorry…”
I couldn’t speak for what felt like several minutes, and he just held me, softly apologizing from time to time. I finally managed to get my breath back, yet I still couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. He just held on to me and waited, all strength and warmth and shaking slightly like myself. Eventually, I patted his arms and made motions to get us both stood up. He turned me to face him and hugged me tightly, his chin tucked over my shoulder. It was only then that I realized that he too had been crying. I reached around him and under his wings — his beautiful, precious wings — and held him close. We stood together, trying not to get each other crying again. He planted a kiss atop my head and pulled away from me slightly. “Are you okay?” he asked, then nickered softly. “Aside from being wet.”
A small chuckle found its way out of me from somewhere. “We may both need towels. Do you…” I paused, not sure how this question would come out. “Do you want me to groom your wings today as well?”
“Yes, Gavin.” He smiled at me gently. “Yes, I do. And I think my hoof feathers may need a bit of trimming, if you’re up to it.”
“And your mane and tail as well, as I promised.” I nodded, returning the smile, if shakily. “I need to finish rinsing you off.”
He brushed his forepaw against my cheek tenderly. “I’ll hose myself off in the shower. You need a dry shirt, I’d say.”
“Fair enough. For you, fresh towels, still warm from the dryer. Back in just a few — you okay on your own?”
“As long as you promise to come back.”
Revealing more than I’d intended, I whispered, “For you… always.”
* * * * *
Over the next two minutes, I did all I could to force my mind to stop imagining the horrifying vision of Emmanuel without his wings. I donned a fresh shirt, gathered towels, tried to gather what few wits I thought I had. This was not a problem to take head-on; I had to think, to listen to him, really hear him. Perhaps I could find a way to convince him to keep his wings, but I also had to let him discover for himself whatever it was that he truly wanted to do.
…as if I could be that grown-up about it.
As I came back into my grooming area, fresh from my errand, I heard him turn off the water in the curtained-off shower area. “Back,” I called out, feigning nonchalance. “Fresh towel for you; I’ll set it on the side table.”
For many furs, it’s enough to wick off most of the water with towels, then stand in front of the warm air blowers to help get the rest; I always was ready to touch up any fur that might get disheveled in the process. Emmanuel didn’t much care for the blowers, when he was here, because it jostled his feathers so much and tended to dry them out. He moved gracefully out of the shower, the towel I’d provided wrapped around his firm middle. I padded up to him with a few more. He took one, to dry off his chest, and I took the other to look after his shoulders and back.
“They really are warm,” he nickered softly. “I thought you were being facetious.”
“Had a batch going before you got here,” I said, rubbing firmly yet tenderly on the areas above the waist-hugging towel. He gave in to the secondary massage, shifting his wings slightly to give me room to step up closer. I marveled at how they grew from his back, knowing that he had a whole set of muscles adapted from the lats and rhomboids to control and make his wings move properly. Even his pecs, looking fully like other sapients’ chest muscles, must have had a species-adapted version of the supracoracoideus muscles that raised the wings in bird species. What would happen to all that muscle tissue if he cut…
I held my breath, forced the emotions back down.
Kneeling behind the Pegasus, I rubbed down his powerful legs, taking a moment to see that his hoof feathers — the fine hair like his mane and tail, yet still called “feathers” on equines, with or without wings — did indeed want a bit of evening out. I looked up at him, towering above me, his magnificent wings still mostly furled, and something quite primitive awoke in me, something that touched the need to pray to something, someone, in reverent thanks for that which is really beautiful in the world… to worship what you truly believe in, and hope — pray — that it believes back.
I patted his fetlock gently. “Gae sit ye doon, laddie,” I said, in my best faux Scots brogue. “I’ll fetch the clippers.”
When he was properly ensconced on what was essentially an oversized barber’s chair, his towel still resting in his lap, I had him place his hooves flat on the floor so that I could trim the feathers evenly with the pull of gravity. My fingers flew, comb in one paw, scissors in the other, comforting myself with the act of aesthetics guided by muscle memory, allowing me to calm my feelings and let other thoughts wash away for a few minutes. Emmanuel, too, was quiet. The space helped me to feel less embarrassed about my breakdown.
I smoothed out the hoof feathers, gleaming white-gold and fine as spun silk. “I think they’ll do,” said softly. “Want a mirror?”
“I’ll wait for the full effect. I love to look stunning all in one go.” I heard the smile in his voice, and I felt better.
Rising, I smiled back at him. “Mane and tail; wing feathers for last.”
“My favorite.”
I prepared the mane and tail by brushing out any tangles or knots that I could find, then readied the conditioner I’d promised him. “Sorry it’s not apples,” I noted. “The manufacturer seems to think that something more like mangoes would be a better sell.”
“It’s good to vary the palate. Bring it on.”
I applied the cream to his tail first, which he did his best to hold still for me, unlike… A thought blossomed in my head. “Emmanuel, how are you with non-sapient horses?”
“What?”
“I have a small ranch, about an hour’s drive north. Have you ever spent time with non-sapient horses?”
“Actually, no.”
“I’d like to invite you up for the weekend.” I paused, sensing his hesitation. “Nice acreage, some wooded sections as well as open fields, very quiet. Horses can be sweetly relaxed companions. It’s a good place to escape the stress of the city, settle back a bit and think. Consider things.”
I combed the conditioner well through his tail, used a damp cloth to remove the excess. The result was wholly satisfying; the white-gold fairly glowed, and the tail hair was soft, full, yet still light and bouncy. His mane would be no less beautiful, when I was done.
“It sounds lovely,” he said at length.
“Emmanuel…” I sighed. “Let me take this head on. I don’t know why you would want even to consider… surgery.” I still couldn’t say cut off your wings; the image was horrifying. “But I know you’ve got no family to lean on, and I’m barely more than a humble servant who enjoys your company. I just want you to have a chance to really think about it, talk to me if you want, or wander around the grounds and woods near the ranch, just to make sure that a decision this huge, this enormous, is the right one.” I began brushing out his mane. “Sorry if I’ve overstepped, I just…”
“It’s okay, Gavin.” He closed his eyes, calmly, as he always did when I worked on his mane. “How did you end up with a horse ranch?”
“Been in the family a long time,” I said. “My grandfather got the land decades ago; my father added to it before too much urban expansion took place, and I’ve been able to keep hold of most of it. We’ve kept non-sapient horses there for about… oh, fifty years now, all told.” I chuckled. “I wasn’t born in a stable, but perhaps I might as well have been.”
The Pegasus chuckled. “Do you ride?”
The novelty of providing the “gay” answer to that question had long since worn off. “There’s a lovely pinto whose grandsire taught me how to ride. I’m a much bigger bear now than I was back then, but Jason doesn’t seem to mind.”
“Jason?”
“His name on the papers is Jason Imperious Three-Socks, and if he’s in a mood, he’ll live up to his middle name. But he’s never been mean. He’ll let you know what he thinks of you, if he’s of a mind that you’re asking too much of him. He hates being ridden early in the morning; took me a while to figure that one out. He loves the evenings, though. Loves the gloaming. As long as he trusts his rider, he’ll even walk in starlight.” I sighed happily. “He’s a lovely feller.”
“Sounds like love to me,” Emmanuel joked. I tapped his cheek gently with the brush, and he chuckled.
“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it!” I went back to treating his mane. “So how about it — long weekend at your mane-dresser’s country manor?”
“Gavin, I feel like I’m imposing…”
I stepped around to stand in front of him; he put both ears forward to mark me. “I wouldn’t have offered, if I hadn’t meant it. And more importantly, I don’t want…” I paused, sighing. “Emmanuel, please. I can’t tell you what to do with your own life, but please… at least give me this weekend to talk to you. We can leave from here Friday, early evening; I’ll have you back Monday afternoon.” Impulse got the better of me, and I took his long nose and muzzle into my forepaws and looked him in the eyes. “Please.”
The moment stretched, and I was afraid I’d gone too far. I released him gently and moved behind him to get ready to work on his wings. His beautiful wings. I wanted to throw him out, bodily if I had to, never speak to him again; if he was just going to lop them off, who cared what they looked like until then? I fought the pain down again. Right now, he’d asked me to groom him…
“Okay.”
I turned slowly.
“Yes,” he was nodding. “I’ll come visit with you, Gavin. I… think I need to talk.”
Once more, I fought the urge to cry, although this time for relief. “I’m glad,” I managed to croak out. “Thank you.”
“For now…” He rearranged himself slightly in his chair, and he partly unfurled his wings to allow me better access to them. My breath caught again, as it always did when I saw him adjusting and moving his wings. I could see the muscles moving in his back, see the way the feathers slid elegantly over one another, overlapping in complete perfection, whispering as if speaking the language of the wind itself. The white of his feathers was absolute, a radiance as if lit from within by something angelic, something beyond the merely mortal. It made a kind of aura around him, and I knew that I couldn’t be the only one who saw it. I was, however, the only one who knew how to care for those wings, and it was still my Percivalian honor to do so.
“Ready?” I asked.
“More than ever.”
Me too, I thought, taking up my tools. Me too…
* * * * *
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