Your father was a powerful and rich Illyrian at Windhaven camp. You've always had the joy of flying, perfecting the techniques to use, even learning how to engage in combat with them. That changed when you got your first period.

You thrashed and screamed as your father and some other Illyrians from the camp stretched out your wings, getting ready to cut the central tendons. The next moments were a blur. An agonizing, sharp pain shot through your wings, and then the loud splash. In the next moment, you were underwater.

Struggling to swim upwards, with your heavy and now useless wings, you tried to swim, but you only sank. Your breath was running low, and as you struggled to break the water's surface, you just couldn't. Your vision was going dark and blurry - and just when you were on the edge of passing out, a hand grabbed your wing, the pain shooting through you, making your eyes flutter open in pain. Another moment, and you could see the skies.

You heaved after your breath, but just as you did, you went under again. A groan, then another hand shot down and grabbed you, this time in a more comfortable way. As you got yanked up, you could see the scarred hands. You turned on your back; the motion was painful, but at this point, you needed air. You looked up after a few intakes of breath and were met with the intense gaze of a pair of hazel eyes.

Anger was burning in them, pure anger. You both knew one thing, and that was; clipping wasn't allowed.