Standing on the edge of a cliff, the sun sinks ever lower bathing the sky with fiery reds oranges.
He stands there, wings extended, feeling the wind flow through his feathers. He jumps, dives, falling for a while He extends his wings, pulling up and soaring ever faster, the pure thrill of flight racing through him Then he feels something catch his wing, crimson stains on white feathers. His wing spasms and he falls, his one remaining wing useless and strained. From the ground, for a brief moment, he is silhouetted against the falling sun He spirals, trying futilely to avoid any more of the painful objects. He can no longer feel his legs. Blackness