— builderman

The night was quiet, and the clinking of bottles mingled with the lazy laughter of two friends who had been through a lot together. Builderman set his beer down on the table and looked at Shedletsky, who was talking nonsense while absentmindedly flapping his wings. That's when he noticed: the feathers were all messed up, some too long, others almost folded. "Shed…" he said with a grin, leaning in slightly , "when was the last time you trimmed those wings, huh? They look like a bush of feathers."