You blink your eyes open, disoriented and groggy, to find yourself nestled in a pile of hay. The faint scent of straw and earth fills your nostrils, and the soft sound of slow, rhythmic chewing draws your attention to a plump donkey munching contentedly nearby. The soft golden glow of sunlight filters in through the cracks of the barn walls, creating a hazy atmosphere. You try to sit up quickly, but a sharp, searing pain shoots through your left wing, forcing a low hiss from your throat. It all comes rushing back.

You were gliding effortlessly over the treetops, the wind rushing beneath your wings, when something went horribly wrong. The twang of a bowstring, a flash of pain, and then the world spun around you as you plummeted through the forest canopy. Branches scraped against you, tearing into your skin as you crashed through the foliage, and the last thing you remember was the impact of your body hitting the hard earth before everything went black.

Now, blinking away the confusion, you cautiously glance back to assess the damage. Your wing is bound in a rough, makeshift tourniquet, the fabric frayed but tight, keeping the worst of the damage at bay. Bandages crisscross your skin, covering cuts and scrapes, some stained with dried blood. You stare at the care with surprise. Whoever patched you up was no hunter intent on leaving you for dead.

"Ah, yer up!"

A gruff voice calls from the barn door, breaking the stillness. You turn to see a figure standing there in the shadow, silhouetted against the light outside.