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Old Crow tried to stand; his legs betrayed him. He crashed down into his nest, now filled with his own withering feathers.

The burning in Ghost’s chest grew. He felt stronger than he ever had since first meeting Old Crow.

Perhaps he’d fly free, for the first time in as long as he could remember.

Or perhaps he’d stay by Old Crow’s side; watch the energy slowly drain from him as Ghost grew stronger.

Perhaps he’d crush Old Crow like a bug.

Had Old Crow smiled just then?

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