Two suns were shining in the sky. The light was sharp, and the wind cut like ice. The air was dry and silent. The bird's wings flapped unevenly, erratically—it was in the air, but unable to ascend.
The parasite had consumed its muscles and taken over its nerve endings. Balance was completely lost.
It wasn't gliding through the sky—it was just hanging there, as if suspended. The wind struck its back and altered its direction, yet it still remained aloft. Or so it seemed.
On the horizon, a dense, dark forest came into view, composed of thick, clustered trees.
Its eyes were becoming duller with every second, and its body was gradually losing altitude.
What had been a glide had now turned into an uncontrolled descent. A few broken feathers scattered into the wind.
Eventually, it crashed into the center of a clearing. It was no graceful landing, but the final twitch of a shattered body. Part of its internal organs had been flung out.
