«Do you want to know how I feel right now? Well, if I let go, I'll die. If I panic, I'll die. If I breathe wrong, I'll die. My body is at its limits, and I'm hungry!»
"Swoosh!"
Somewhere within the pitch black sky, a large bird streaked, parting the clouds as it moved at the speed of sound.
It had been three months, or four (Mr. Valen was unsure). His knuckles burned, his arms strained, begging him to let go, but he dared not.
Rather, he buried his head into the feathers of the flying beast, offering him comfort from the stinging wind.
At this speed, the air should flay a normal human alive, but Mr. Valen was anything but an ordinary human.
Dynatós who lay beside him had it much worse. As the bird flew, he squinted through tears, his lips peeled back in a rictus, every exposed patch of his flesh burning.
He, too, learned to tuck his face against the bird's feathers, to breathe in shallow, stolen gasps between the hammer-blows of wind.
