To explain the wings, you need to know the back story. A bit of it, anyway.

As far back as we can remember we were at the School. It was not a good time. We were kept in dog crates, injected with stuff, tested. But The School is responsible for our creation. We're not sure whether we were born from humans, or test-tube babies or whatever we were. But the School took us, and made gave us 2% Avian DNA. As well as the wings, we have improved senses, some of us have powers (Angel and Gazzy), we have air sacks, ultra light bird bones, and all sorts of awesome stuff. And then Jeb helped us escape. Jeb Batchelder, a Whitecoat gone good, took us here, kept us safe. He was like a dad. And then he left; he simply upped and disappeared. Max, and everyone else, is convinced he's either dead or so further in hiding that he can't reach us, ever. Not me. Jeb could have gone back to the School, apologised, told them where to send the Erasers. Wait, you won't know what they are. Erasers are part human, part lupine killing machines sent after us, to hunt us down and kill us, or maybe take us back to the School, we weren't quite sure.

Anyway, back to the story. I slipped into the kitchen, and Max seemed to feel my presence as she straightened from where she was leaning into the fridge, turned and snapped at me, "Will you quit that?"

Four months younger, and four inches taller. Go me. Just to annoy her, I asked, "Quit what? Breathing?" Max rolled her eyes.

"You know what," she replied.

Iggy groaned softly and declared, "I'll make eggs." Max didn't complain. Luckily for the Flock, Max doesn't really care about that sort of stuff. Usually, it's 'are there Erasers coming' and that sort of thing, not that I'm saying it's wrong to worry. I do it, secretly, behind the emotionless mask I put up. Bidding good morning to the sleepy eight-year-old that was now slumped over the table, I sat down.

"Fang? You set the table." Max's voice broke through my thoughts of setting up a blog. Standing once more, I grabbed knives and forks, accidentally getting in Iggy's way, and set the table for six. While Max finished waking the girls, Iggy finished up the eggs, and the Gasman finished waking up. I sat down in my usual place, and soon, the air was full of Nudge's voice, telling us (in great detail) all about the dream she'd had. It was about flying, apparently. As we do that all the time, I tuned out. I only tuned back in when Angel said firmly, "I want to go pick strawberries today. They're ripe now."

"I'll go with you!" offered the Gasman. At that precise moment, as though he'd been waiting for it (and knowing Gazzy, he had) he let rip one of his unfortunate...occurrences, shall we say. He giggled in that adorable way only kids can do.
"Oh, jeez, Gazzy," Max scolded.

"Gas...mask..." joked Iggy, pretending to choke on the toxic fumes.

"I'm done," I said quickly, disposing my plate in the sink. I was downwind from Gazzy, not a good place to be.

"Sorry," Gazzy muttered, not sounding that sorry at all.

Just the usual morning for the mutant bird-kids. Until the Erasers came.