Feathers and blood fill his vision and his soul. The pretty browns and whites of his speckled wings flutter to the ground around him. As they move to rip apart his other one, he manages to break free with the sounds of a wild animal.

He runs.

And runs.

Up ahead he can see the old windmill he and Mama call home.

Called home.

He trips, and falls next to the mooring holding his home to the colony that hates him.

Those who called him beast.

Those who called him mutt.

He unties the narrow bridge from the steps of the crumbling structure.

There are shouts in the distance and torches being lit as the sun goes down.

He floats away from the only place he has ever known.

As the sun’s colors fade to the soft red hues that made his mother fall in love, the last thing he sees is an old tree silhouette.

“You’ll always be my sky,” He whispers.

“Goodbye Mamá.”