A full month after Jiang chose the abyssal molt, his last old feather came loose because Aylin sneezed.
It had been clinging above his tail through three days of stubborn inspection. Her breath caught while she leaned over him, the feather lifted, and Vessa snatched it from the air before it could fall into the flooded service throat.
All three of them stared at it.
"That cannot be the official end," Jiang said.
Aylin wiped her nose against her shoulder because both palms were still wrapped. "Your body has shown worse judgment."
The laugh cost him. It caught under his breastbone and became a dry cough that left his beak open over the warming cloth.
He had never been so hungry.
The fast had taken the round strength from his neck and carved hollows above his legs. New black feathers hid much of the loss until he stood. Then his breast seemed too narrow for his head, and the straight leg shook before he had moved anywhere.
