A few days after my admission of friendship and vow to help, we are forced to land. I had hoped that we would be able to fly this day. We are so close to my destination that I can taste the necromancer on my tongue. It is not to be so. I will not reach the necromancer this day as thick clouds, dark as onyx cover the skies.
The storm is unnatural. I will swear as long as I breathe that the storm is designed to kill me. The lightening as it begins to crisscross the sky seems to come directly at me no matter where I fly. I maneuver rather gracefully around each pillar of electricity as it zeroes in on me. I feel as though someone has stuck a big target on my wings that only the lightening can see. I must have dodged twenty bolts of lightning before I see a bright flash of light appear before my eyes, followed by a burning sensation in my right wing. Then I am falling.
I flex my wings and flap erratically as I try in vain to regain my rhythm and composure. This action only aids my plummet to the pine needle littering ground below. I feel my body begin to spiral, hear Squeaks frantically squeak as he grips my neck feathers. Another bolt of lightning took advantage of my uncontrolled predicament and strikes me in the back. My nerves feel as though they are on fire. Stars burst before my eyes. I no longer hear Squeaks’ petrified cries, nor do I hear the whoosh of the wind as I spiral out of control. As blackness envelopes me, my last conscious thought is Let Squeaks be all right.