Calum opened his eyes, and thought he was dead. He was wrapped in warm blankets and he laid on a mattress full of something extremely soft. Suspiciously soft. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a real mattress. Then his waking body hit him with a dull ache in his back, and away dashed all hopes for heaven.

"Are you awake?" A new voice asked.

Calum froze, then slowly peeled back the blanket from over his head. He was in a circular room, made of wood but... not planks, almost like it'd been carved from the biggest stump in the world. To his right a small fire crackled in rock-lined fireplace, smoke rising through a hole in the wood. There was a collection of cooking pots, pans, and utensils hanging from the ceiling along with several vegetables. To his left was another bed, this one more permanent and the mattress was encased in an ovular railing. A few candles sat unlit on a low table. Sitting at said table, was another deadwing, its large dark wings folded behind them.

It—he? Was holding a bowl and staring at Calum darkly from behind layers of shiny black hair. Calum stared back, still trying to comprehend where he was. The air smelled of livings things and the warmth that held them together.

"You're the deadwing that attacked me near the forest!" Calum realized, breaking out of the trance. His hand slapped his thigh, where there was no sword scabbard. Calum frantically wheeled back to lock eyes with the being in front of him.

The deadwing's eyes flicked down, and then back up. He didn't say anything audibly but Calum could feel a papercut coming on from the prickle of his presence. The deadwing wanted to be nowhere near him. 

Calum glanced down. He was not wearing a shirt. His chest was wrapped snuggly in new bandages, but not cloth ones. At least, not any cloth he'd ever seen. He lifted up the blanket and—thank gods—his pants were still there. His foot had also been rewrapped and it no longer constantly ached.

"Where's my shirt? Wait a minute, where am I? Who are you? Where's Holly? Am I being held hostage? How are you talking?" He squinted, "I think I demand to be released."

The deadwing shot him another sharpened glare.

Calum hesitated, "what... who are you? What do I call you?"

"Deadwing. It, he, they. Are you hungry?" His voice was like metal, like dried bone.

Hunger pulled a claw across Calum's stomach with such force he felt dizzy. The growl was embarrassingly loud. Deadwing walked over to the fire, and picked up a bowl that had been sitting above it, unattended like a lonely lady at the balcony of a party. Calum flinched slightly when they approached him, Deadwing's ears flicked back. He didn't seem eager to be within swiping distance of Calum either.

He set the bowl on the ground and sat a few feet away. Just watching him. Calum cared only for a moment, before the scent coming from the bowl yanked his head towards it.

The bowl was filled with still-steaming vegetable soup. Calum was overwhelmed by the smell of it, forgetting instantly how scared he was and started scooping it into his mouth. One bite and he stopped, it tasted, well, amazing, but not like any vegetable soup he'd ever had.

An uncomfortable buzz filled every bone in his body. He felt...shaky. He barely realized when he reached up to the side of his head and started to pull on his hair gently. What did he remember from last night? All his memories were covered in a thick, soupy, haze, but he remembered the High Welf, Tarif's scythe, Holly...and Holly's wings.

Deadwing was watching him.

Calum's hand immediately dropped, accompanied by a wave of dizziness and hot stones of shame imbedded deep in his stomach. "Sorry."

Deadwing didn't move. "It's Calum, right?"

"He please. Do you happen to know another deadwing called Holly?"

He nodded, bristling at the neck, big, black, billowing wings loomed from his back. Calum burned with questions, but something told him he wouldn't get very far with his porcupined companion. He didn't want to be here, Tarif wouldn't want him to be here.

Calum just tried to finish the soup, but as they both ate in silence, the more embarrassed he was and the more and itch crept up in between his shoulder blades. His mind was absent when he reached back to scratch until his fingers brushed something warm... and feathery. Definitely feathers. Calum's heart skipped a beat and his empty bowl fell the ground with a loud clatter

The welf's gaze snapped back up at him.

Calum craned his neck around and to his horror saw he'd grown two veiny lumps that looked like arms but with considerably less skin. They were like small, shriveled, flesh claws covered in rust-colored nubs. His whole back felt like it was covered in those protrusions. Where he wasn't bandaged, the red feathers burst forth, dry and soft, almost fur-like.

"What the hell?" Calum gasped, each inhale came faster than the last one. "What... what...What is this?"

He kept twisting around to stare at them, seemingly a pair of young, partially damp wings growing from his back. They were so ugly. Each movement stung, and to his horror he realized he knew what muscles made them move. They twitched weakly and Calum fought the urge to throw up the soup he'd just eaten.

"What is this?" What did you do to me? Why are they wet? Gods I just want to go home. Please take them off, please—"

Deadwing put his hand gently on Calum's shoulder, and didn't react when the red-haired boy flinched. Calum realized he was gasping for air, and stopped talking just to breathe. He looked up at the creature before him—who he now shared common traits with—and forced himself to calm down. Deadwing didn't seem entirely menacing in that moment, until his lips parted and Calum could see his slightly pointed canines. Maybe he was about to speak, maybe he was about to bite.

Calum took one more look at him, then passed out, again.

When he woke up, there was a warm, damp cloth across his forehead. Then the memories came rushing back. He sat up, and threw off the blanket. Holly was sitting there next to his bed, surprised, one of her arms in a sling. She looked like she had when High Welf Opaling had thrown fire at her, with long pointy ears and big wings.

"Hey birdie, how are—"

Calum reached behind his back, and couldn't help the whimper that escaped as he realized the flesh knobs were still there. It was all real, not a horrible nightmare. Why couldn't this at least feel real, instead of a claustrophobic, fever-induced, hallucination?

"Calum, look at me." He glanced up; her dark hazel eyes were still there, still the same. "You're okay, you're safe, just like I promised."

She wrapped her arms around him, squeezing gently with her good arm, and Calum found it within himself to take a deep breath. Her hug was warm, and he did feel...safe... He thought he did. His forehead felt less like a high-pressure melon when she pulled back.

"Take it in slowly, okay kid? You've had a rough few days." She ruffled his hair.

Calum wanted to ask more questions, but couldn't bring himself to. His body was still waking up. He was still coming into existence in this new place, this new form. He realized he was disconnected, like a stranger in his own flesh. Calum frowned, and looked up at Holly, almost asking if she knew who he was. Deadwing was still here, he watched from the table. He wanted them to go away, he wanted Tarif to tell him what to do.

"There's nothing wrong with you, got it? In whatever way you came to be, you are a wonderful thing, do not be ashamed of that." Holly promised. "Dee told me you had a lot of questions, why don't you ask me some? Wouldn't that make you feel better?"

Calum nodded, and swallowed the well emotion that had threatened to rise up in him. "Dee?"

Holly gestured to the brooding shape behind her, "It's his nickname."

Deadwing raised an eyebrow.

"Okay... you're both...um..." Calum gestured to her wings.

"Yup, outcasts from the Colliste Colony. Hunted by humans. We hide and form our own communities out here. Dee and I are Crows, I think the English equivalent is spies. We live out here near Colliste and make sure the Hunt doesn't get to close to the big nest. How do you feel about that?"

"Hanging in there." Calum felt like she'd just force fed him a live worm.

She pointed to her face. "I was an experiment. The goal was to see if a disguised deadwing could infiltrate the human kingdom. Luckily it worked, and lucky I found you before you got too sick." She patted Calum's shoulder.

"I thought humans couldn't get the disease?" Calum.

Holly smiled at him to cover her wince, "They can't, because it's not a disease, or contagious. It's genetic, and magic. It just looks that way because it can skip generations. You Calum, are the first human to ever experience this. I think the High Welf put a powerful illusion spell on you that night to set a trap for me. We haven't figured out how to undo it yet."

Dee glared daggers at him, taking a long sip from whatever equally dark liquid sat within his cup.

"It's...not..." Calum's voice trailed off, all he could think about was his training. The effort to find a cure. The importance of disinfecting weapons. The quarantine protocols. Even more horrific, his horrible mind had already dashed into the darker corners and brought forth conclusion. Tarif had set this up as Calum's punishment.

Holly sighed, she had bags under her eyes. "It's a long story, but centuries ago the welves were cursed, and as long as the winged few of us are alive the Colony is destined to die out."

Calum felt cold, and pulled the blanket around his shoulders. He could feel it brush against his feathers; it was new, unpleasant sensation. "I feel like I don't know anything anymore."

"That's okay," Holly brushed Calum's hair away from his eyes. "The hands that raise us all are calloused with lies. It's not your fault."

Calum had stood before a waterfall once, on a training exercise a few years ago. It was so loud; you couldn't hear anything else. That's what it felt like now, like he was back on the rocky beach, nothing around him but mind-numbing noise. It wrapped around him, covering him, and at the same time made him feel the most vulnerable. He wanted to protest, to tell her she was wrong. Tarif would never lie about something like this.

"Why don't we focus on something else, do you have any questions about your wings?" Holly suggested.

Calum's skin prickled, like ants were crawling down his back. Acknowledging them was overwhelming, he didn't want to remember the foreign pieces of flesh, bone, and muscles sticking off him. His knuckles turned white as he curled his fists into the blanket, like it would stop him from being blown away. "I don't know."

Holly placed her hand on his forehead. "You're still a little warm. We call this the burning, and there's always a nasty fever. It's a big change in the body which is why you feel so awful and hungry all the time. High Welf Opaling is a skilled magician but even I have to admit it's an incredibly realistic spell, so just to be safe from now on out you'll be treated like any welf going through the burning." As she was talking, she stood and walked over to a pot hanging above the fire and stirred it. "That's probably enough questions for now, you need to rest your body and your brain."

She was right. Calum stomach was uncomfortably empty, and the knowledge he'd learned dragged down on his eyelids. He opened his mouth to ask for some of whatever Holly was cooking but the word fell short in his throat. He looked at the pace where he slept, where he hadn't moved in hours.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I need more pinkroot." Deadwing said quietly, one of the few shreds of dialogue he'd heard from the boy.

"I can help with that!" Calum's legs wobbled when he stood, and limped towards the table where Deadwing was now writing with a quill and ink.

Holly swiped at the back of Dee's head. "Over my dead body."

"But—" Calum bit his lip, "you're being so nice to me. I haven't done anything but... be a burden. I..."

The two welves watched him, Deadwing with wide, staring eyes. Holly opened her mouth to speak but Calum jumped in before she could ever start. He had to be honest with them. They were two strangers, none of this made sense.

"I don't know why you would bring me here, why you would trust me. I haven't... I haven't done anything for you. When I woke up the first thing I did was try to attack you, Dee. I still can't tell if that was smart or just instinct. I still want to go home." Calum leaned against the table, his whole body shaking. "I miss—I miss—" he didn't know how to finish that sentence.

Holly didn't say anything. She walked around the table and wrapped her arms around the boy, rocking and rubbing the center of his back, and he let her. There was a painful, non-physical agony tied to her kindness. It filled a part of him that he hadn't realized was empty until now, and without he found himself starving for it. None of today felt real, Calum didn't know for sure if it was. Surely, they had an ulterior motive. Why else would they allow him to stay here, unharmed, if it weren't for some other purpose?

He stared into Holly's shoulder, tearless and numb when he realized what was happening. It was fake, he'd seen High Welf Opaling use magic before, this must be what they were talking about. An illusion or a dream meant to test him. It could only be a fantasy; monsters weren't nice hospitable people, and the Hunt were the only ones who would take a problem like him, and give him all the things he should have been more grateful for.

Calum was sure now, this was Tarif's punishment for letting the deadwing get away.