Running. She was running through the sunlight.

In the distance, Dylan was stretched out on the lawn, bleaching his wings. Long, dark-brown, luxuriant feathers, glistening in the sunlight with a beautiful sheen.

He was asleep. His strong, handsome face looked unbearably innocent in the baking noon sun. The faint scent of lemon juice drifted on the breeze, stirring the vibrant grass and rustling the trees in the distance.

Leaning in closer, admiring the colorful feathers...

Each feather was unique, a swirl of burnt sienna, dark ochre, sandy tan. They cascaded down from the tops of his shoulderblades, increasing in size. The smallest ones lightly feathered the back of his neck.

A handful of squeezed lemons lay on the grass beside him.

Why does he bleach his feathers like that? ...Why doesn't he understand?

He is Beautiful...

Confusion, flashing lights. Strained cries and yells, a series of loud popping noises. A sharp pain at the side of the neck and lower wing. Then silence...

She was soaring, pumping her wings, racing Nudge and Angel to the dreamy, puffy clouds drifting over their newfound home. Angel zooming up ahead. Laughter and shrieks as Nudge passes them both. Entering the cloud's colossal shade and gazing up in reverence at its huge, weightless mass.

Soaring higher, higher. The air gradually growing damper and heavier. The landscape below fading away, replaced by a warm , pleasant veil of misty white.

Bursting through the top, clothes sopping wet and hair dangling in the eyes, laughing again. Nudge and Angel doing loop-de-loops in the air. High-fives all around, then a high-speed race back to the garage. Diving, side by side; Nudge's Chocolatey-dark wings shedding a sparkling shower of shining raindrops; elegant, silvery streams trailing from Angel's cream-colored wingtips. And far, far below, sleeping on his stomach with his outstretched wings shimmering in the light...

Night has fallen, and the air is filled with the chirping chorus of thousands of singing crickets. There is no air-conditioning and her room feels baking-hot. Getting up and walking to the restroom as the peaceful sound of snoring echoes through the mini hallway.

Washing her face with cold, frigid tapwater; it feels so good. An unbearable itch starts twinging on her wing, then stops. A hawkish-tan feather detaches itself and drifts softly to the floor.

Shedding again... shedding is so not fun...

Turning, walking back down the tiny hallway. Loud snores from all directions.

Then walking, slowing, stopping at the outside of Fang's door. No snoring sound is coming from within. He must be having a sleepless night too. A pause, then...

Passing by, slowly, carefully, avoiding the squeaky floorboard and entering her room again. Shutting the door.

...It is too hot. On a sudden whim, the screen is lying on her bed and the cool night breeze beckons welcomingly.

A crawl and a leap, and a swift and silent glide over the spacious lawn. The night breeze feels so good, cooling the feverish feathers with its delicate touch. The moon calls, and I wings send her spiraling up, higher and higher, watching the stars as they flicker and flash in the glittering heavens. It is a cloudless night, and it is beautiful out.

Reaching out for the moon, reaching out further, further, until it seems almost close enough to touch. Cool air and peaceful silence as a meteor streaks the sky with a flash of gold.

Turning, wheeling, and coasting down towards the land. The air whistles through her hair. Then, gently, she is flying just above the treetops. The dark, silent sentinels of the forest whip past her feet and she laughs, stretching her wings out and reveling in the flight. Then, all of a sudden...

...Soaring beside her... is Fang...

He coasts beside her, keeping pace, the moonlight shining off his dark and majestic form. The trees rapidly flit below as the moonlight glints off the deep, dark feathers of his wings. The wind ripples through his hair, pulling it back from his face. Her heart beats faster.

With a faint smile, Fang pulls closer, and his wingtips softly tickle hers. He glances at her, then looks pointedly at the horizon and back.

She smiles. You're on, she mouths; then they're off, wildly pumping their wings, trying to outdo each other.

The remainder of the forest flits past and a wide swathe of farmland stretches out below. She glances at him and he meets her gaze. A smoldering fire seems to burn in his expression, and her heart leaps. She looks away.

They continue to fly side-by-side, and the landscape whistles past below...

Then, suddenly, everything shifts. They continue to fly. They are in a dark, ominous landscape filled with burning fires and scorched earth. The air is filled with smoke and ashes, and the night sky is deepest black. No stars flicker overhead. Burning flashes blast from the hillsides, sending strange dancing lights drifting up into the dark. The air is cold, and silent. They continue to coast beside one another as a frightening bang rips through the heavens. A large warship sinks through the rumbling clouds, tearing in half with a ear-rending shriek. Scraps of dark metal hurtle to the ground below, colliding, shooting showers of gristly rock into the sky. An explosion rocks the air, and flaming wood separates from the ship and plummets to the earth.

Fang is silent, flying beside her. His black hair billows in the wind. He beckons to her and wheels to one side, and she turns and follows, confusion filling the air. They glide quickly past the steaming ruins beneath them. The land is shifting, moving; the hills grow and shrink and shoot upwards, only to shrink again. The air is filled with smoke... black, thick smoke...

Fang flares his wings and turns, hovering in the air. He faces her. His expression is filled with deep longing and heart-rending sorrow. His dark hair falls loosely around his face, and his eyes smolder with hidden emotion.

"Max," he says breathlessly. A swirl of dark fog envelopes them and disappears, and suddenly he is hovering just by her side. His arms wrap around her waist, and he pulls her closer.

"Max," he breathes,

"I -

An explosion rocks the air. Showers of stinging black rocks rain down upon them. Fang wraps his wings around her, enveloping her in his radiant warmth and shielding her from the stones. They draw closer, hearts pounding. Then...

A deafening roar rings through the air. A shower of sparkling, razor-sharp metal rains down upon them, slicing through his wings and embedding themselves into her arms and upper back. Pain, sharp, torturous, blinding pain. Blood. Flashes of red. Spiraling, down, down, a bone-crushing impact on thick, hard rock. An avalanche of dust hurtles down, filling the air. Choking, suffocating. Fighting for air. The world blacks out...

Then...

Sitting on the ocean floor; the water is thick and tugs at her wings and body. She is gazing upwards, watching the shimmering light filtering through the surface. The light lances through the tranquil water, and the rays dance across the sandy bottom.

A ripple spreads across the surface, and a black feather appears and slowly, dreamily, zigzags down to her. She reaches out and it dissolves in front of her fingertips...

Silence.

She is swimming, up through the watery depths. The light grows brighter, brighter. Then...

The light fades slowly, and distant voices blur the air.

The voices slowly, painfully slowly, become clearer. Fuzzy snatches of conversation float through the air.

"Do a plaster splint..."

"Primary feathers..."

"He needs blood. There is a packet by your right..."

The conversation fades away, replaced by a dull ringing sound. Then, slowly, the voices become clear again.

The voices became louder, and the fuzzy edge to the words disappeared.

Max groaned.

"Nick, it cannot be done," an exasperated woman's voice said. "Her nerves are almost completely interlaced around it. If we extract it now, there is a large possibility that she will lose the use of her arm."

"That may be so," a male voice said. "However, if it is not removed, Itex will continue to track them. The signal is very strong," he said softly. "Very. She is of valuable use to them, Vortex. We can only imagine what they are planning for her." There was a rustling sound as someone stood and stretched. "Hu-huhh-haawgh-yagh," he yawned. "That was a long, long trip. The other one weighed a ton."

A faint feeling of unease entered Max's mind. It struck her that the man had a faint Russian accent. A memory slowly began to take form...but a wave of sleepiness washed over her mind, and she drifted off.

When she came to, the man and woman were talking softly.

There was a a sound of clicking glass. "Tranquilizer and antidote are both running out," the woman said. "We need to make another supply run, Nikolai."

More rustling noises as the voices continued to talk. Max groggily tried to open her eyes but couldn't. She knew she was lying on a hard surface of some sort. Her wings were tucked neatly behind her back, forming a comfortable pillow. Her head rested on some sort of foam block. Is this Itex? She thought confusedly. They would never dream of giving us pillows like this. Where on Earth am I? She tried to open her eyes again, but failed.

Max gave up the stuggle to see what was happening and contented herself by listening to their conversation.

The lady hummed softly. There were more sounds of clicking glass, then the sound of stirring.

The woman sighed. "Sedative requires much effort to make," she said. She paused, then spoke again, more softly: "Where were the others, Dominic? Were they...?"

Silence.

Max's mind churned in panic. Her memories were beginning to come back. The fight with the towering Avian in the patchy, moonlit forest. The sight of her bedroom, completely destroyed, with her laptop lying there, broken in half. And Fang, horribly injured, with rips and slashes across his body and wings and the single deep stab mark, oozing blood, a gaping wound...

Where the heck was she? She attempted to sit up but couldn't. She was sedated, somehow. She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

The man spoke, and Max carefully listened.

"I did not detect any of the others during my journey. When I finally reached the house, I sensed a disruptive wave source emanating from a van. It appeared to be an electronic jammer, very powerful and sophisticated."

"Mm," the woman said. "Where were the other jammers located?" There were more mixing sounds, then the sound of a heavy bowl being placed on a table.

"The first one was in the van," he said. "It was very poorly concealed; they had set it on the dashboard, almost in full view. And I think," the man said slowly, "It was a high-altitude type machine. As I was approaching the house, I detected it at a height of approximately two thousand five hundred meters."

"Wow."

"I know. It was stunning, hit me like a blastwave. I, er, had to dismantle it, you see, because of its strength."

There was a pause, then the woman laughed.

"So I gathered," she said humourously. "The smaller sections are still intact, though, Nickolai. I must admit I was rather disappointed."

The man chuckled, then continued. "They were in a rush, I think. One jammer was placed on the roof next to the chimney, one was shallowly-buried in the garden, and the other two were air-dropped into the woods, emitting only a weak signal."

Max struggled to open her eyes again. She managed to open them a crack, but saw nothing. With a start, she realized her eyes were covered with some sort of black fabric. She closed her eyes again and sighed, then listened intently.

"So those were the jammers. The samples I gave you came from the kitchen, the upstairs bedroom, and from the hay in the garage. They are all hair and feather samples, so they should be pure." There was a pause.

A fan rapidly whirred somewhere high-up above her head, sending a gentle breeze through the air. It was warm and pleasant. A faint whiff of...propane?...reached her nose, along with the scent of cloves and mint. The man and woman were talking right beside her bed, and it sounded like there was a table nearby, laden with glass containers of some sort. The woman was working by the table, preparing something. A faint bubbling sound came from something on the table, along with a steady hissing.

The two continued to talk.

"The garden was covered with large pawprints," the man said slowly. "Vortex, do you remember that project they were working on while we were there? Well, they have succeeded. They have created man-wolf hybrids."

The woman sharply inhaled. "What?" she snapped. "They actually succeeded? ...But that is impossible..."

"It is not. I know, because I found one, dead, fallen by the edge of the garden."

There was a shuffling noise and the sound of a page being torn.

"Here is a pen and paper," said the woman. "Please draw, in detail, what you have seen. I must tend to the boy," she said softly.

Fang, Max thought. With immense effort, she reached up and ripped the black fabric from her eyes, then groaned.

This was going to be an interesting day.