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The crisp air of the cold morning swarms your senses. Heavily your cape hangs off your shoulders. Clipped together at your chest and protecting you from the harsh cold of the snow.

You don't trust Phil enough to leave him at the house alone so you took him with. He trailed behind you quietly. Watchful blue gaze eyeing the woods around him.
You dragged the wood sled behind you, letting go of the string and picking up your axe from the strap around your back.

"Stay right there," you muttered as you took the first swing at the bark. The crack of the axe hitting the tree split through the forest. You grunted with each swing.
When the tree finally came down you had your sleeves pulled up and your cape tossed to the side. Even though it was freezing, you were sweating.
Phil's feet crunched in the snow as he walked to the downed tree with his own axe in hand. He raised the netherite high above his head.
Wiping your brow you squinted your eyes and shielded them from the sun. Watching your 'prisoner' cut the wood into smaller chunks. Each time a log gets tossed into the open you pick it up and throw it on the shed to be hauled back home afterwards. The process was repeated until the sled was full.

Neither of you spoke on the way back. It was peaceful. Occasionally glancing back to make sure he hadn't run off.
You had nothing to speak about, not like you wanted to. There was no point in learning about him as a person if you were just gonna give him to his demise.
You ushered him in front of you sled in tow as he stepped forward and walked in the line of sight.

His wings tuck closely to his back. The grey feathers dull against the white snow. The tip of the longest feathers brush against the ground, leaving small trails behind. You notice the occasional feather fall to the ground or shift in the wind.
Looking past Phil to see the house in the distance and sigh. Rather loudly as it causes phil to glance back at you.
He's quiet and says nothing.

The wind blows your cape around behind you. Reminding you of the set of wings upon his back. Closing to his side you mumble. "What's it like to fly?"
The first words either of you have said in hours. You throat is dry and lungs sting from the cold.
Phil looks ahead.

He opens his mouth to speak only to close it again.
"It's hard to explain,"

You look back at the ground, the snow beginning to thin beneath your feet. "Oh, ok." The anticlimactic response makes you sigh. If he was just gonna die after he healed you at least wanted to know what it was like to fly; to be free with the whole sky above you and unchained from the cage we called gravity.

Could you at least know that?

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