"You know, youngling, one day if you keep chasing storms the way you do something will happen."

"Papa, I would never hurt myself."

"You'd be surprised. Children always think they are invincible, but real life is very different Svetlana."

"Papa..."

"I'm serious Svetlana. Take care of yourself, for one day things may change and you will be much worse off than you ever realized."

"Papa, can we go practice our flying?"

"We won't go anywhere- you'll take off from here."

"But Papa! It's so hard to take off straight up."

"In battle sweetheart, the enemy's going to use that to his advantage if you are unable to do such a thing."

"Hmm."

Everything rippled, retreating from my mind, and I watched in the darkness as the images receded, black painting over one of the few memories of my father I had. Panic. No, no, I don't want him to leave, where's Dad going, where's he going, he's going to die, red, red, everything's so red- DAD! No, he can't die, it isn't fair, you can't bring him back sliced up, it's not fair, what happened to him, he's my dad, he's MINE, nobody can take him away. HE PROMISED TO COME BACK!

"No honey, he's not coming back."

"Yes, he is!"

"No, he's not. He's dead and gone."

"He promised!"

"HE'S DEAD! Get out. Just get the fuck out. I'm sick of you, sick of you crying over him, sick you asking me when he'll be back! He's dead Svetlana, don't you understand?!" The images are overcoming me again, and panic seizes me as I see the gory body, his ribs, his bones, everything so red... and my mother, yelling at me, her eyes savage, kicking me, hurting me... waking up.

"Don't faint! Whatever you do, don't faint!"

I inhale, pain clubbing at me, breaking through the barrier I had receded to in my mind. My wing... my poor wing. I can't really do anything but breathe, try to calm the paralyzing fear and pain overcoming me. Something hard was nudging me. I managed to open an eye a bit, but everything was too white and blurry, too hard on my vision. The black eye closed, the house pulling the shutters down. Instead, I focused on the bright points of red-hot pain coursing through my body. Wing. Definitely not straight anymore. Fuck. Crumpled, broken. As for my other wing, it seemed okay, certainly sore. My whole body seemed to be tingling, filled with electricity from the lightning that had snapped through my veins. Vaguely I hear someone talking. Something about a friend. Pain.

"I can speak." My voice is rusted and hoarse. Was I... crying? As much as a horse can cry. God. My parents... dad. Mom. Fuck. "It's fucking cold out here." I mutter, carefully easing over onto my other side, as to avoid lying on my damaged wing. "Wing's not right. Fuck it all. Sore... maybe leg broken. Sorry. Svetlana." Still my words are hoarse and sad. I can't believe myself.