Blood and water. That was what he could smell as he laid in his own feathers, feeling the cold cave floor under his tired body. No power remained in his body, so he did not move. With heaving breath he closed his eyes against the gruesome scene that surrounded him.

He had snapped. In a frenzy fuelled with all his hate, he had torn out his feathers on his wings. He had felt this brewing for a time, and for the fear of dying of bloodloss, he had found some vines that he wrapped as hard as he could around the base of each wing. When most of the feathers was gone, he had not stopped, but continued to teare out tendons and small portions of muscles. The bones he could not break, even with all his might put behind each bite. Pain only added fuel to the fire of his hate of himself and his fate. He only stopped when the pain became too great and as the sound of his body against the floor, bouned from the stone walls, he relaxed. Bones broke under the weight of the heavy horse, a sound he greeted cheerfully. He had done it. He had eliminated his curse and finally taken control of his fate. With the choice of beeing earthbound for the rest of his life, he let his head down, taking in his surroundings.

There was almost nothing left of his once crimson black wings. He looked more like a wraith than a horse and only heavy breathing betrayed the life that still stirred in him. Pain flooded through his body, making him dizzy and constantly reminding him of what he had done.

It was so quitet now. Maybe he had died? No, the pain told him he was not. Would he die? He hoped not, but then again.. If he did, he would not have to find an answer to Africa's difficult questions. He could not share with her the reason behind this. He'd been pushed too hard, too far over his limits. How could anyone say that they knew how it feels like? They could not.

The blood began to smell now, and with a heavy sight thorugh his nostrils, he made the puddle move a little. Did he want to see the damage he had done? Of course not, but he had too, sooner or later. He made the coice to do it sooner. He raised his head to get a clear view of himself, as blood, meat and feathers stuck to the side of his face. Wow. He had done a good job, if he could say so himself. There was almost nothing left! Just a few feathers had escaped his teeth and bones hung loose without the support of tendons, skin or muscles.

"Write this down your stupid walls" he whispered as his neck failed to hold his head up. Dizziness and pain took him once again and as he drifted off, he felt satisfied with himself - for the first time in his miserable life.

Walking "Talking"

Windwalker