Peran soars across the sky with outstretched wings. Flying is so much more convenient than walking or even riding, and he’s once again grateful for the cloak. Without his cloak — without the ability it grants him to take on swan form — it would take weeks for him to deliver his message to NAME.

Even without the convenience of speed it’s the perfect day for flight: beautiful and clear, no sign of clouds or dragons or —

Thunk

Pain lances through him as an arrow pierces his side. The swan wobbles unsteadily before tumbling out of the sky.

He slams heavily into the heather-covered ground not as a swan but a young man tangled in a cloak of swan feathers. He takes labored, shallow breaths as he lays in a heap, unable to move.