“My wings will heal, and they will be stronger, more durable than before.” Their newly acquired armored exterior had sheltered his body from the worst of the burns and carried him to the passageway tucked beneath the overhang he fell from.
Her blood gave him that indestructibility, by way of the Icelandic woman. Imagine what he would become if he drank from her directly. But to catch the fly, he must heal. He must feed.
He summoned the strength to climb the cocoon, his claws and feet clinging to the sticky strands. When he reached the neck, his fangs pierced through layer after layer of diaphanous netting, sinking into the leathery flesh beneath. Then he drained the remains of his brother’s carcass.
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