only two feathers remain to remind you. white pinions, almost angelic, except for the black at the tips. they remind you of the prisoner- the great merrel- chained by his ankle to the rafters.
you're growing your hair out. the curl is more mild than it was when you were a child; at last you have a use for those ribbons.
his wing was broken on a hunt many years ago. time heals all wounds, except when it doesn't. he told you he could eke one more flight out of it, if he had to. he knew he would die when he stooped. he knew he would die in that one fell swoop.
but you were drowning. it was your destiny to die, and whether or not it makes you cry, he used his last flight to save you.
only two feathers remain to remind you. white pinions, oddly bucolic, except for the red near the quills. they remind you of the hunter- the poor merrel- diving into the ocean once more.