Bran ached all over.
The flaming wings on his back hadn't burned him but they'd used massive amounts of energy from him and all he could do was lie on the bed Morgan had laid him down in.
Some time had passed since the man had carried Bran from the stage to this small resting room backstage but Bran still didn't feel like himself. Not only had that Arthur caused flaming wings to sprout from his back, but he'd also commanded Bran to fly, to actually fly around the auditorium. Bran could remember it but in a detached sort of way like he'd watched a first-person film of someone flying instead.
It wasn't the first time he'd felt so out of control, but it had been a long time since the last and this time it had not been among friends. The whole thing from being grabbed by Arthur to having magic worked directly on him without him giving the go ahead all filled him with anger. And fear. Then there was the whole deal of having that puppet string forced on him.
