Thorn the fae was not pleased. A low growl of discontent rumbled through his tiny chest as he stirred within the confines of the makeshift terrarium. The glass walls, though meticulously cleaned and comfortably furnished with soft moss and delicate leaves, felt like a prison to him. He was used to the freedom of the open forest, not this sanitized box.

His wings, once vibrant and shimmering, now lay limp at his bandaged sides. The human had found him tangled in a thorny bush, his wings torn and his body bruised. they had scooped him up with surprising gentleness and brought him to their home. Though he begrudgingly acknowledged that he might not have survived without their help, it didn't mean he had to like it.

Thorn had never liked humans. They were clumsy, loud, and often destructive. But this one was different. they had handled him with care, speaking to him in soft, soothing tones, and had created this terrarium in a corner of their home. Yet, every time they approached, he couldn’t help but scowl and snap at them. He hated feeling helpless.

He shifted on his makeshift bed, wincing as a sharp pain shot through his side. "This is all your fault." he muttered to himself, recalling the events that led him here. He had been in the midst of a playful chase with a mischievous sprite when he had misjudged a leap, crashing into the thorns. how ironic. His pride had hurt more than his body at that moment, but now it was his body that was a constant source of pain and frustration.

The sound of footsteps approaching the terrarium jarred him from his thoughts. Thorn quickly rearranged his expression into one of disdain. He watched as they carefully opened the top of the terrarium.

Noticing the dish held in their hand, Thorn grumbled under his breath. Ignoring the pain, he sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Oh joy, what could it be today? More stale crumbs and murky water?"