Projects

I'm trying to get a bit more confident in my work. Organized and unorganized snippets of stories and drawings.

[ruvastuon]

Works Every Time

Thank you for the prompt @flashfictionfridayofficial

Following the untimely 'death' of a prolific hunter, an unexpected number of 'mourners' show up to his 'funeral'.

The procession all converged on the double wide doors and, with no little effort, squeezed into a narrow room filled with too lage benches for any of them to sit comfortably. They all were in black, though who of them were truly mourning, not even the director of eighty successive events was quite sure.

They all of them wore the signs of grieving with dripping mascara and reddened eyes, but their manner was hauty and more bursting with impatience than a bag stuffed with angry rats.

Adjusting his tie, the director mentally reviewed the itemized bill that he would soon collect and found some courage in the decimals that he recalled for none of the guests had been temperate in their festivities the night before.

When he took his stand on the raised platform, the idle chatter and lamentations all ceased with an unexpected unity, and he found himself somewhat shaken by the intensity of their gazes.

His smile did well enough to mask that initial discomfort, though, and soon he found purchase in his speech.

"We are gathered here today to honor the life of a triumphant departed, who was neither swayed by the temptations of life nor sunk in its trials." Their gazes did not waver, and the director fancied that he didn't see any of them blink either.

"Long did the departed dwell among you all, bringing something of hope into this dark world, and even in passing, memory will keep him alive in your hearts and minds." As he spoke the final words behind the coffin, he had slowly begun to back towards the paneled wall behind him even as the doors to the room were bolted with a resounding thud.

The mourners all arose in wrath, and with one mind lunged towards him even as the coffin lid burst open in a blaze of gunfire.

The director slipped out though a passage only accesable to himself while quickly calculating the amount of damages he could already see. His lips curled into another smile at the prospect.

[ruvastuon]

NIGHT SHIFT

Thank you for the prompt @flashfictionfridayofficial

Summary: In a small mountian village, most people are careful to be behind closed doors before the last bell tolls lest the monsters prey upon their souls. There are some who find opertunity in this night state though, and to them, the departure from it is not always so simple. For those who do decide to sever from the night, they are best to ensure they make their intentions well known to all the creatures that they have served lest they be sought out.

Footsteps echoed through the once empty hall as the last rays of sunlight drew in the roaming lodgers. Pleasantries and goodbyes rang out until each of the fifteen heavy oak doors had finally been shut and locked for the evening.

Behind the trouncing parade, the old inn keeper made sure to check that every lock was properly intact before scurrying off to his own little broom closet for the evening. There, he lit a candle and sat by his door with a silver pistol in one hand and a book in the other. Therefore, by the time the last warning bell was sounded for the day, the one still out and about was the barkeeep who was just finishing up the final evening preparations when the first guest arrived.

"Running late this evening, John?" Setting his hat to the side, the customer settled in his usual spot at the bar and lifted two gnarled fingers to make his order.

"My shipments were delayed again, I'm afraid. I'm a bit concerned that Devero isn't keeping her hands as clean as she claims lately." The two drinks were poured to the customer's usual specifications, and the bartender only got a nod of agreement before the first glass of neon liquid was instantly downed.

"She never was much for moderation, but the council should already have put her in check. How much was missing from this last shipment?" The writing mass of snakes that made up the customer's hair all turned to the bartender inquiringly as he hesitated to answer.

"I may not be open for the end of the week." Behind tinted glasses, a pair of firey red eyes burned with anger as the customer gripped the empty glass in his clawed fingers until it shattered.

"Why give me a double in both glasses if you knew that?" The bartender mulled over his answer while resuming his final inventory in an attempt to avoid the snakes' baleful glares.

"This isn't the first time she's made me dip into my personal stores, Grim. I can't keep running at a loss, and you know that the problem isn't going to be solved if I lodge another complaint." There was a pause that neither of them seemed committed to end until the hour was beginning to wane, and the barkeep finally had no more work to distract him from the main point at hand.

"Don't worry about the drinks. They're on me tonight. Thank you for your longstanding business." Grim nodded in resignation and finished off the last of his two drinks. There wasn't mych even he could do if things had reached this stage, which was precisely why the bartender had remained so vague in his complaints over the past few months. He was grateful that Grim had stopped at the glass though and that the fire in his ehes had cooled with the hour.

When he reached the door to leave after their usual goodbyes, Grim turned back and paused before pulling something small out of his pocket and flicking it across the room. The business card stuck in the wooden bar just in front of the bartender who gently pried the sharp metal loose and smoothed over the spot where it had stuck.

"If you start up a new place, give me a call, will you?" The bartender smiled as he set the card among a pile of others he'd already obtained this week. With that, Grim was gone, off to whatever work he was assigned that night.

Having served as the night shift bartender for the past sixty odd years with no clear exit for too many uears now, Devero's little exsccersions had proved to be quite serendipitous in their timing. Pulling a well-worn photograph from his inner picket, John smiled softly. This time, he'd have a nice long vacation without interruptions.

In his contemplation of warm food and sunny beaches, the door opened, and the next customer cautiously stepped towards the bar. John quickly tucked the old picture away and began to make the customer's regular drink, with a little more of a smile on his face than usual.

[ruvastuon]

Thanks for the prompt @flashfictionfridayofficial

Summary:Blinded by jealousy and feeling out of options, Brandy turns her hopes to an unconventional place to escape the spiral she's been stuck in since Isibella Daniels turned everyone against her. She gets her chance to turn things around when she finds a strange book, but is the price really as simple as it seems?

Warnings: mentions of medications.

Reflected Intentions

'Why couldn't it have been me?' Brandy's complaint was left in her mind to rot as she stared at the tinted mirror perched on her vanity.

Her reflection, in turn, shrugged. "There is no reason why it couldn't be you yet."

The voice speaking was not her own, nor were the thoughts, but she did not move from her place fixed on the mirror.

"Oh, don't be so shocked dear, when you summon a sin, you can't expect them to ignore it no matter how petty the reason." Before she could open her mouth to question at what point any such call had been made, her reflection raised and eyebrow and leaned towards her with a knowing composure that made Brandy want to change the talking point.

"Why do you look like me? How do I know that you aren't just another illusion?" The reflection mirrored the movements of her mouth even as the form shifted to Isabella down to the platinum blade roots of her perfect little face.

"I would advise you to speak more carefully Brandy, I can dress in all sorts of things that you or your meds couldn't even imagine. Don't you dare confuse me for a parlor trick." Brandy shuddered at the voice, too high pitched and grainy to be mistaken as anyone else but Isabella. This thing felt serious in a way that none of her previous attempts had gotten anywhere near.

Biting her lip at the sudden rush of hope, Brandy decided to take the chance that this wasn't a dream. After all, what harm could there be if it was?

"I-I want to be Isabella, I want to be popular, and, and make me pretty, and.." The reflection raised one hand to stop her, and she found that her voice was gone.

"And get your bo back. I know.. Just take a deep breath, Brandy, and remember your part of the summons, yeah?" Brandy nodded and tried to wrack her brain for the last page on that blasted old book she only now started to recall having read. Something about aptitude? The mirror grew dimmer in the lingering silence until the answer hit her almost as an afterthought that slipped out involuntarily.

"What sacrifice do you want on return?" Stunned by the tone of her own words Brandy knew by the reflections smile that she had at least be right with her guess.

"More like it... Since you want three things from me, it's only fair that I get three from you, yes?" Her head nodded as the reflection puppeted her movements.

"What could I give you?" Her mind was already swirling with wonder as to what such a being could want from her, but she did not need to wander long before that answer was given to her simply.

"I want you to collect some envy for me. Nothing too difficult, but I can't gather it nearly so well on this side of a mirror you see." A small bottle appeared on the reflections hands, and soon after, the cool glass bottle also rested in her own.

"All you have to do it get close to the people I instruct, and then open the bottle just a hair. I won't make it hard on you since this is your first time and all."

The glass seemed harmless enough, and what was a bit of envy lost? Wouldn't that be better for people?

"Okay... who?" This time, the reflection didn't speak, simply depositing the words into her mind with a strange heaviness that seemed to crush her shoulders.

"Now don't forget to keep that bottle safe girl, your happiness depends on it." The Isibella in the mirror smiled brightly, crinkling her nose as she did so.

The next moment, Brandy opened her eyes in a cold sweat. She was on her bed, and the vanity mirror was still covered. Sitting up and hugging her thin arms, she frowned at the cold sensation in her left hand.

[ruvastuon]

Suitor and Lady

Thank you for the prompt @flashfictionfridayofficial

Summary: A suitor comes across the object of his courtship in a sorry state and despite not having the closest connection, tries to console her all the same.

Warning: Referenced slap in the face and large bruise on cheek. Also, threats of violence (I guess? Mostly angry and expressing it.)

A dark purple bruise across the right side of her face was the first thing that the suitor saw as he stepped onto the balcony. It was such a foreign addition to the familiar scene that he almost forgot the reason he'd come this way this early in the evening festivities. Without bothering to attempt recalling his former business, the suiter closed the large glass doors behind him and allowed the curtains to fall back into place.

Cautiously, the suitor stepped forward, watching for any indication of her discomfort. When he was about arms distance away from her, the suitor saw her flinch and stopped advancing.

It wasn't his way to pry, but the figure exiting earlier hadn't given him much incentive to ignore his nearly purple complexion.

"It's a lovely moon this evening. It's a shame the old fox had to go and ruin it for you." While he didn't expect any grate reaction to his attempts the suitor fancied that she almost grinned at him calling the offender by his lesser cherished monicir, but the expression never reached her eyes and was gone almost before his mind had registered it.

As the silence began to linger, the suitor half expected this exchange to go the way of all their precious encounters, with her staying silent until one of the maids called her for bed and hurried her out through a side entrance; only tonight he was surprisingly met with an entirety that broke through their usual silence like the swing of an executioner axe.

"I much preferred the sunset... F-father thinks him a good match for me." The tears were already starting to whell up in her eyes as she began to lose her composure all at once.

On any other night, he would likely have stood his ground and let her be in her sorrow if she wanted. Today, however, was supposed to be one of her happiest memories of her life, and it tore at his being to remain too pasive an observer for it.

They weren't all that close, but from what he'd seen of her usual company that wasn't too terrible an achievement for her. Reaching out, the suitor took her hand as gently as his frustration would allow and slowly pulled her into his arms. Without even a hint of hesitation, she accepted the embrace, digging her fingers into his suit. She began sobbing as he held her close until she regained her composure.

"I won't marry him... I would die before doing such a thing." He gently began to smooth out her tousled hair with one hand as she continued to curse the old fox.

[ruvastuon]

Nightly Reflections

Thank you for the prompt @flashfictionfridayofficial

Warning: implied infidelity

Summary: After his wife died and left Bernard with a child who bore no resemblance to him, the now single father did his best to raise a child in a house that was never meant to facilitate children. On more than one evening over the years, displays of her nature often left Bernard in a contemplative evaluation of the generational similarities between mother and daughter.

....

Bernard set down his steak knife and gently dabbed a drop of blood from the corner of his mouth with the fold of his napkin. Across from him, his daughter sat utterly disinterested in the salad that she had been absently pushing around her full plate for the past ten minutes. Like her mother before her, she had never been adept in disguising her impatience.

Hesitating before his nearly empty glass of wine, Bernard considered for a moment inquiring about her time in his absence but soon thought better of it. Her retelling would amount to nothing more than a bag of half truths that he had no patience for this evening, so he allowed the silence between them to stagnate as was their current tradition.

Finishing off his meal with silent resolution, he stood and made to leave with a mumbled excuse that neither of them truly cared to even comprehend.

Stepping from the dining hall soon after, he contented himself to stroll at his leasure back to his office where he would doubtless spend another sleepless night in the company of whatever book caught his fancy. She would soon be off on her periodic venture that never found the sense in minding his presence or that of the guard he had long since charged with her protection from afar.

With a copy of Sir Robert of Northfolks memoirs in hand, Bernard watched his foolish daughter follow in the same pointless subterfuge that her late mother had always thought beneath his notice.

Had she come more frequently to his offices then she might doubtless have noticed the clear veiw he held of her secret exit from the premises, but such observations had sadly been kept to his blood alone as it had happened.

All the better perhaps, he would not have wished his countenance to have cursed another generation. Settling down in his favorite chair facing the window, he left a glass of brandy at his side and settled down to read.

[ruvastuon]

Checkpoint #22 Reminder to get some writing on one of your WIP'S done.

Between Inspiration? Feel free to take this time to brainstorm instead.

Additional Optional Objectives:

1. Stop by and talk about a line or concept from this writing session that you are excited about.

2. Stop by and talk about an idea you are working on.

3. Even if you can't write or plot when you see this, set yourself a reminder for later when you are free.

[ruvastuon]

Nature Persists

Thank you for the prompt @flashfictionfridayofficial

Summary: On watch, Billy, a tree guardian who has found company with a strange collection of humans, interacts with a small bird foraging the ruined field.

Billy had never much taken to the creatures that roamed the earth. They were, in most cases, far too loud and destructive for his quiet preferences. Still, he would, on occasion when there was little else to abide, sit and ponder their fleeting lives, filled from start to stop with all manor of strife.

On this dead evening, surrounded by barren feilds that had long since been drained of any natural life by the fires of war, Billy watched a splash of blue hopping among the blackened remains.

It's purpous, initially a mystery to him, soon became clear as the little chirping bird collected bits of burned twigs in its beak only for them to crumble into dust once they were dislodged from the ruined earth.

Sparks of buried embers occasionally sprang back to life, startling the bird away only for it to hop back down, not even inches from its most recent retreat.

He'd never much liked creatures of this sort, but he could not in any way despise them. Each being, after all, held some spark of his kin that he could not neglect despite his animosity towards their destruction.

As another ember popped, threatening to once more synge the birds darkened feathers, Billy reached out and allowed the creature to seek some refuge on his outstretched finger.

It looked at him curiously and almost expectedly as its little chest rapidly rose and fell without rhythm. To its questioning gaze, he simply raised a handful of twigs and watched as the creatures' beady eyes lit up at the sudden offering. It took no time in accepting the generosity, quickly flying off with a small bundle before soon returning with anticipated chirps that were thankfully muted enough so as not to wake the others.

So the the night went on, their little routine set, until the sun began to raise and his watch ended. The little creature departed then, and he only happened to observe the creature and it's mate on their preceeding march, nestled among familiar twigs in the broken light of an overturned car.

[ruvastuon]

Checkpoint #21 Reminder to get some writing on one of your WIP'S done.

Between Inspiration? Feel free to just take this time to brainstorm instead.

Additional Optional Objectives:

1. Stop by and talk about a line or concept from this writing session.

2. Stop by and talk about an idea you are excited about.

3. Even if you can't write or plot when you see this, set yourself a reminder for later when you are free.

[ruvastuon]

A watercolor concept art made in the height of my 'productive' procrastination.

[ruvastuon]

Warning: Mild injury and No happy endings prompt

Thank you for the prompt @flashfictionfridayofficial

School Baking Contest

Jonny measured out the butter down to the millimeter, his forehead bunching with focus as he carefully cut through the softened ingredient. There were twelve evenly sized parts in total and without wasting too much time on evening them out just a little more, he put the butter knife carefully into the sink so he couldn't triple check himself again.

Once the pads were put into the mix and he had made double sure of the consistency this time. Through a combomation of training, luck and a but of help from his mother, Jonny was able to fill all twenty-four tin spaces with the bear shapped measuring scoup that had been his trusted companion this whole summer.

Watching eagerly as his mother safely placed the trays on the middle rack to bake, Jonny pulling his chair over and sat down with his batter stained fingers holding his head upright. Only a measly fourty-five minutes to go and then his masterpiece would finally be finished. Then the whole class would definitively know that Jonny Baker could make proper cupcakes, no! They would know that he had made the best cupcakes. Then Sara Dough would realize along with everyone else how rich and moist cupcakes could actually be.

>Ding!<

Like a light, Jonny leapt from his chair to once more enlist his mother's help, watching in awe as she lifted the sizable tin. They smelled delicious, and once they were all packaged up to go, he proudly held his carry case with both handles. The oser they got to the school the more worried he became but every time he flipped the lid open his doubts faded, there was no way he'd loose this time, not after all of that work.

Swallowing hard as they pulled into the parking lot, he got excited when his mom pulled all the way up to the door. In his anticipation, Jonny didn't see that the car wasn't flush with the sidewalk, the two just eight inches apart but more than enough for his foot to catch.

The concrete hit his shin as his foot landed and he pitched forward his arms flailing.

His knees hurt, and he could feel his palms were scraped up, but more concerning to him was the detached handle in his hand. He took a moment to just stare it the treacherous plastic as his mother came around fretting, but when he finally managed to look up, the sight was just as horrific as he could have imagined. All twenty-four chocolate cupcakes lay strewn across the entrance, drooping with icing that he'd decided to add just before they left.

Once she was satisfied that the scrapes weren't too serious, his mom gathered everything back up in the damaged container while Jonny just sat there blinking until she scooped him up into a bear hug.

[ruvastuon]

Thank you for the prompt @flashfictionfridayofficial

Summary: struggling to accept kindness at face value, Clarence does his best to unpack his hesitation with the hope that he might be able to foster friendship in a less draining way.

It wasn't that he'd intended to push Darla away. He'd liked her company more than most, and if he had a choice to save one person from a burning building, it would have been her without question. When he really sat down and mulled the points over in his head, there was no good reason for him to keep being abrasive.

Clarence Roe had always had a low tolerance for sweets even before his genetic bend towards diabetes had caught up with him, and unbeknownst to him, that aversion had somehow ingrained itself into her perception of people too.

Normally, it probably wouldn't have been a problem, since up until now, most people had seen fit to let him be, and he, in return, had afforded them the same courtesy. It half made him internally, and the department said that his current shortcoming was more on his lack of resistance to such advances or her existing on a higher level that he was used to working with. He hopped foolishly sometimes that it was the latter.

"Mr. Roe?" Her voice shook him abruptly from his musings despite the gentle tone, and it took his face several moments to figure out which mask was needed at this point.

"How can I halp you Ms. Trenton?" Her fave broke into smiles so effortlessly that he found himself a little jelous of her positive attitude. His half smile was all that he could properly regurb as she gave her report, but he fancied that she didn't care too much for that level of detail.

[ruvastuon]

Summary: Some think that the bridge between life and death is like a train station, but when souls can become currency, the afterlife quickly adapts to the change in spite of their own undead persuasion.

Need to get back

Thanks for the prompt

@flashfictionfridayofficial

The little shop jostled with the passing train, but just before the good China cup could crash to the ground, a withered hand stopped its destined fall. The owner of that particular hand carefully secured her fingers along the rim of the cup and lifted it to her lips for another sip of the black tea.

Placing the cup back on the counter, she then went back to her book, once more slowly flipping a page as the tain whistle blew at an uncomfortably high octave that easily pierced the paper thin walls. Her store was, as always, at this time, open though, and in due course, the bell above her door gave a warning ring after less than a minute of the train whistle.

"Hello?" Thin with a reedy quality to his voice, her vertically stunted costumer quickly approached her front desk, brimming with all the usual questions that people bad about the station.

"You can head to the back and follow the markings to your designation. If you have further questions, you can figure it out as you go." The costumer nodded in confusion for half a moment before finally catching sight of the blinking lights behind the shopkeeper. He hesitated to ask more, but then got that same dull, scared look all of the others did when their train ride finally settled in.

"Thank you, mame." The whithered hand shooed him on, only stopping as vague recollection that spilled out of her cracked lips. "Oh, and one more thing. Don't be afraid of what, okay?" Her cracked smile spread out in sympathy.

[ruvastuon]

Checkpoint #20 Reminder to get some work on one of your WIP'S done.

Between WIPs or inspiration? Feel free to take this time to brainstorm instead.

Additional Optional Objectives:

1. Stop by and talk about a line or concept from this writing session.

2. Stop by and talk about an idea that you are excited about.

[ruvastuon]

Passing Ships

@flashfictionfridayofficial (sorry I keep forgetting to tag 😔)

Summary: A bar patron listens to the technical ramblings of a stranger.

Warnings: drunkenness

The words racing out of her mouth congealed into a writhing mass of nonsense that somehow still made him feel stupid.

"Altogether pretty simple if you pay attention to the fluctuations." Taking another sip from his bottomless glass, the listener hummed in uncertian agreement.

"Did you have another take on it?" The listener raised an eyebrow at the sudden tilt forward in posture. Either she was trying to make him look the fool, or some inebriated part of her thought that a random stranger in a bar six drinks in had any real idea what she was talking about.

"Doooose it mater?"

The rich, nutty flavor of his drink had taken on an unfamiliarly fruity note that was just enough of a wake-up call that he'd picked up the wrong glass. He frowned down at the pink liquid vaguely, remembering that it had been the woman's.

"Thisss, thisss isn't bad. Another for her on me." He finished the drink and fumbled his way back to the shorter glass that he approximated was his own.

"But if it doesn't matter, then what's the point you know?" The listener paused with his glass almost to his lips, looking up for the first time to see that the speaker appeared to also be drunk. Taking another sip with a grin, the listener let his head lull into his open palm.

"Sure?"

[ruvastuon]

Checkpoint #19 Reminder to get some writing on one of your WIP'S done.

Between WIPs? Feel free to take this time to brainstorm instead.

Additional Optional Objectives:

1. Stop by and talk about a project that you have been working on.

2. Share a line or concept from this writing session that you are excited about.

[ruvastuon]

One little problem

Thank for the prompt @flashfictionfridayofficial

Lorel sat cross-legged at a low desk, her fingers absently fiddling with a pencil. In the typical nature of things, words were escaping her now that she'd sat down to really get on with her project. Looking to the blank wall for any sence of pupouse, she found that it didn't help any more than the last fifteen times shed attempted the disassociation today.

"Still working on that piece?" Glancing behind her, Ralf was just settling down at his own desk, seeming far more confident in his execution of work. Lorel could even see the beginning sketches that he'd started on his way up to the office.

"Something like that?" The scribbles on her page didn't really amount to anything notable, the remnants of her shopping list seeming to be the only cohesive part whole mess.

"Still stuck then? You may just want to side line that one for a while." If it were just that simple... Even if she decided to add the megar papers to the growing pile of things that she could 'get to later', there was a growing doubt that even with time, any would be completed. No matter how much she flipped the page or scribbled in exploration, the lines just weren't matching up like they should. If she couldn't grasp the vision soon, then certian undesirable choices may have to be explored. Glancing back at another empty desk, it wasn't like anyone would miss a page or two anyway.

[ruvastuon]

Thank you for the prompt @flashfictionfridayofficial

Warning: mild reference to injury

Summary: Roman has always been a reclusive creature, preferring his trinkets and plants for company. His preferences have mostly been shaped by the mysterious organization that has been hunting him for years. Despite his efforts to evade them, one day, he slipped up.

Prison in the Clouds

Roman attempted to force himself awake as an incessant beeping beside his head finally overtook his desire to continue resting. His headache had not gone as he had originally hoped, but with time's fickle consideration for his wellbeing, the outcome was hardly surprising.

Blinking slowly, he adjusted to the surprising brightness around him, grumbling all the time at the apparent shift in locations. It was an altogether unnerving change of scenery from his usual plants and shining bobbles that left his head spinning.

It wasn't until he attempted to spread his wings that the reason for his prolonged cranial pain was quickly brought back to his attention, and the beeping came to an abrupt stop. He didn't even bother inspecting the mangled feathers that hung loose around him. How long had it been since he was dragged from the marsh?

Dragging himself upright, Roman paced the 10-foot radius of a towering observatory. Outside, all he could see were clouds, and within there was nothing but the cushion hed awoken on adorning the stone floor. Moving the makeshift bed only revealed more unbroken stone underneath, and the roof above was held in place by great stone pillars that seemed more dense than anything else around him. Running his fingers along the glass until they blanched, Roman could feel the glass flex ever so slightly under his fingertips. The clouds were spread out in a broken blanket of grey and white, too high for him to usually have flown anyway.

Returning to the bed, he plopped down so as best to rest his wings and began once to observe the room more carefully.

Roman had never been one for magic in any of its forms, but the beeping had come from somewhere, and he had some guess that whomever had placed him here was keeping an eye on his movements.

When he spotted the carved stone coated in a state blue ink, he let his eyes continue scanning past it, making a note of where it rested.

There was one more tucked in the opposite corner to keep him from any significant privacy, but why they might have any great interest in his captivity was still as confusing as their first encounter. He wasn't exactly a specimen of his kind worth taking significant note of, but perhaps his evasion of their prior attempts had contributed to this obsessive persistance. Whatever the reason, they didn't need to go so far with his wings. Picking absently at a loose seam, Roman began to weigh his options.

The strange magics of this place made him hesitant to do anything too extreme, but before their design had time to fully become revealed, he likely had his best chance to regain his freedom. Since they had likely woken him for some sort of observation, for now, he instead contented himself to fiddle with the bedding while planning his next move. With or without his wings, he'd find a way back to the marshes.