By the time the owl-girl was brought to the city of Eclanor, her body was barely holding on. After being struck by the bullet, her right wing was chipped right off, and the wound was cauterised by the heat, making it impossible for her to reattach it even if a priest had gotten to her quickly. A socceress or a witch could've, in theory, reattached the wings, but with the nerves having died in the fallen wing at this point, there was nothing that could be done to give the owl-girl her flight back.
Holding her dead wing in her hand with her shoulder now patched in bandages, the girl stared at the soft white feathers that used to belong to her right side. Caressing the surface, she held a bittersweet smile. Lost in her mourning, she reminisced over her past as a child. Learning to fly, finding joy in her aerial mischief, not to mention the sheer convenience of not having to walk through a crowded street.
"I won't ever fly, will I?" Finally glancing upwards, she matched Raven's gaze.
