FINNIAN
Samantha stared at the white flowers growing along the edge of the clearing. I was thinking of how to answer her questions. What an odd one.
I let the silence settle between us. Let her breathing slow. Let her heart stop racing, before I answered.
"The first time I grew wings," I said finally, "I was seven years old."
She turned her head to look at me.
"I woke up in the middle of the night. There was blood on my sheets. My back was on fire and I thought I was dying." I paused. "I screamed so loud that the whole palace woke up."
"And what happened?" she asked, her voice filled with curiousity of wanting to know more.
"My father came into my room. He looked at my wings and at the blood and then he looked at me." I stared at the flowers. "Then he walked out. He did not say a word."
She was quiet for a moment. "That is terrible."
"That is my father. He believes in always handling us toughly. He didn't want any sort of hardness."
"Did your brothers grow wings too?"
