Art by OctoberRainstorm


I’ve never liked being looked down on for what I was born with or without. I could see it when they spoke to me. Their words said I was strong, but their eyes called me weak. Except for him. I caught him staring, but he didn’t look at me like I was weak. I’m not sure what that look was, but he startled and smiled back like he meant it. He gave me a small bit of hope that I could be seen as more than the broken wingless thing I was.

I snuck into his cavern while he was sleeping, or away and left him small things I found. Pretty rocks, baubles, and trinkets…things I was better at finding than anyone else. Small perks of not spending all my time in the air. I was good at finding things on the ground. I liked seeing him smile when he found them.

I didn’t know what to think the first time I caught him sneaking out of the treasure room. The sight of a small Fae carrying a bolt of cloth larger than himself was adorable, though I couldn’t figure out why he refused my help when I offered to help him sneak off with his loot. He didn’t seem to want anyone to know what he was doing, but I couldn’t help myself. The pale white bandages wrapped around his fingers were the second hint I got. The third was finding him asleep with all his things strewn about the area he turned into his workspace. He was learning to sew. We didn’t have a tailor, so I thought he was just trying to fill that role. We didn’t have a weaver either, so I thought I found mine.

The loom was easy to get. The engineer and I had an unusual camaraderie. I was born without wings. He lost his. There was no pity between us, just mutual respect. The book he left helped. It would have taken me much longer without it. The first many batches were disasters, but with time and patience I learned. Soon I was sneaking bolts of cloth back into the treasure room, only to catch him sneaking off with them hours or days later. I learned what colors he took more often, and made more like them. I don’t think he knew. And I was okay with that. Or, I was until I learned what he was using them for.

I was surprised when he came to me, shyly pushing the large box over to me. I understood why he learned to sew that day.

“They won’t let you fly like you want to. I wish I could give you more.” He said, though I knew he meant more than that. It was hard to stay composed, spreading out the wings he had sewn together with the fabrics I had made. How could he say that, when he had just given me something better than flying?

“You’re wrong.” I told him, looking over his work. “With these, I will fly higher and better than anyone else.”

He’d put his heart and soul into this, and I couldn’t repay him with anything less.