The months that followed my introduction to Crimson were consumed by rigorous training. She and I were taught how to track, how even the tiniest scents and sounds could provide clues. Both Crimson and I had incredible senses, much stronger than any average human. Though, I quickly found that Crimson did have one weakness: her sight was nowhere as keen as mine.

Or at least, half of mine.

I had been able to teach Crimson a few signs, just the basics, so that I could communicate with her. Her signs were sloppy, but at least it was something. I had heard that Brady intended to teach her basic sign language once our training was complete.

Then, one night as I lay awake, Brady came unannounced to our room and picked me up.

"Come on little one, I need to have a look at those wings."

Adrenaline began pounding through my veins. To be completely honest, I was afraid. Many of the other test subjects that came before me had been unable to fly. Most often, the thin membrane that connects our wings to our back had ripped away, unable to support the weight. I shuddered to think the same would happen to me.

Carrying me into a big, open room with a high ceiling, Brady brought me over to a table flanked by four other Whitcoats. Setting me down, he undid the buttons on the back of my shirt.

"Alright, we're gonna take this nice and slow, okay?"

I nodded, trying to hide my anxiety.

Slowly, Brady pulled my left wing out, allowing it to stretch out to its full length. He held it out, giving my muscles a chance to grow familiar to the feeling of bearing its weight. Then, wrapping it around me, he pulled out the other one.

I sat motionless. My muscles were weak and my wings floppy, but they still held together, even fully extended.

"Can you move forty-three?"

Shaking, I tensed the muscles in my shoulders, causing my wings to move a couple of inches.

"Okay, very good, can you extend them on your own?"

Slowly, painfully, I rolled my shoulders forward and extended my wings. I could feel tension along my spine as the membrane of my wings grew taut.

All of the Whitecoats seemed to hold their breath, and for a few horribly tense moments, nothing happened.

Then, Brady smiled at me.

"Very good, your wings are strong forty-three."

All of the Whitecoats smiled at me as well. Some cheered and a few others patted Brady on the back.

"Alright, now then," Said Brady. "We'll start exercising those wings in the morning; better get a good night's rest."

With that, he picked me up and took me back to my room. Setting me down, he ruffled my hair.

"Good job." He said. Looking up at him, I smiled. It was good to know that I had made him proud, that I had in a way proved my worth.

Not more than twenty seconds had passed when Crimson game bounding over to me.

"Hey chica!" She said, flopping down next to me. "What did the Whitecoat want?"

Scooting away from her, I pulled my wings out and wrapped them about me. Crimson's mouth fell open a moment, then she closed it. Leaning forward, she sniffed my wings curiously.

"Are you gonna be able to fly?"

Though I wasn't entirely sure if I was going to be able to fly or not, I nodded. Crimson grinned and clapped her hands together excitedly.

"Oh, that's so cool! Wish I could fly… but I guess that wouldn't work, foxes don't have wings. But then… if foxes did have wings… oh can you imagine how cool that would be?! I bet that …."

Crimson's rambling grew faint in my ears as I slipped slowly into unconsciousness and fell back asleep.

The next morning brought with it many challenges. I had been roused early and was quickly told to stretch out and get loose. Crimson joined me a while later, her red hair tangled and her eyes still half closed.

"Good morning chica." She said.

Ignoring her, I continued doing push-ups, my wings dangling by my sides.

I found that exercising my shoulders also built muscle in my wings. Every time I would flex my arms, my wings would tense slightly. A series of muscle-loosening exercises were added to my daily routine, and soon I could at the very least pull my wings out and wrap them around me quite easily, which I now found extremely comfortable when sleeping. I was still nervous though.

My wings had been able to put up with this much, but how much more could they take?

It was the night before my first flight. I hung awake, gazing blankly at the wall, my wings wrapped securely about me.

"Chica?" Crimson's voice came from somewhere beneath me. "Are you awake?"

I moaned and tossed my head back.

Crimson climbed up towards the metal bar I hung from, balancing neatly on top of it. She crawled towards me, sitting up by where my knees looped around the bar.

"Are you nervous for tomorrow? Cause I would be, I mean – "

Before she could continue, I pulled my wings away from me and swung up so I was sitting on top of the bar next to her.

Looking her in the eyes with my right human one, I shook my head.

"You aren't nervous at all?"

I hardened my gaze and shook my head again. Truthfully, I was incredibly nervous, but I wasn't about to admit it.

What if I couldn't fly?

Then I would be just another failure, just another number written down on the list.

I was forty-three.

Forty-two had gone before me. Forty-two had failed. Forty-two hadn't made the cut. I refused to be just another number, just another failure. I had it in me, I knew it. I was different than the other forty-two.

I would be the first success.