Gull

Pale lashes fluttered, and the grullo-spattered stallion’s lids slowly parted, revealing a pair of clear blue eyes. They blinked once, almost lazily, but as Gull caught sight of his surroundings, the pupils dialated rapidly in fear and confusion.
 
He couldn’t remember how he had gotten there.
 
He knew that he couldn’t have flown, as his still-burning lungs had robbed him of that ability weeks ago. But he couldn’t fathom walking all the way there, picking his way through the treacherous streams of blue lava that seemed to pool everywhere before collapsing fortuitously in the spot where he now lay.
 
Painfully, he raised his head and looked around. The throbbing in his brain intensified, and he inhaled sharply…only to send himself into the throes of a coughing fit. Gasping for air, he succumbed to the pull of gravity on his exhausted body. However, he caught a glimpse of the terrain before he was forced to drop his gaze. It was rocks and lava as far as the eye could see, with wisps of steam and strange creatures weaving in and out of sight. He had never seen anything like it! Still, his fevered mind thought, this place seemed vaguely familiar.
 
Yet so did everything in his state. Disoriented from a quest that he hadn’t realized he had embarked upon, Gull’s “creatures” were nothing more than craggy boulders or unlucky branches mired in the lava. Their movements were only errant shadows of the birds overhead, and their bright colors only the products of his oxygen-deprived imaginings. Though he was awake, all of this was little better than a dreamscape.
 
And lo, what would the dreamscape be without her? Runny nostrils flared and quivered as Muriel stepped out of the smoke. Her coat was glossy and her eyes were bright, lit by the unmistakable spark he had come to know her by. She was alive! his heart thundered. She was calling to him! And sure enough, there she was, beckoning with all four wings and looking back at him as if signalling him to follow.
 
But the malady that gripped him was cruel, for even as it produced the hallucination of his dead lover, it stripped him of the power to go to her. He could barely breathe, much less rise, and he watched with anguished eyes as she began to move away. Wait! he tried to call, but only a raspy breath came out. Muriel, wait! he tried again, but she did not turn. Every second, she was drifting further out of his reach, and he was screaming in his head now, pleading for her to stop. He struggled violently against the bonds of his silence, begging her to stay. And finally-- “COME BACK!” he cried, forcing the voice from his throat. He paid for it dearly; the edges of his vision went black and fuzzy from the effort and the coughing that ensued. But it was too late: she had already gone.

trouble just grew wings