Sticks and twigs snap under Matt's converse as he runs through the woods, his backpack slamming into his back with every step. Huge feathery wings protrude from his back, neatly folded to provide minimum tree branch snagging. Matt is not scared. The sky lazes an orangey-red color as a warm breeze drifts through the air, scented like smoke and burned flesh. An otherwise would be peaceful morning.
Matt slows down, his shoelaces coming undone. His chest burned from running in a binder. After a moment of listening for the stomping footsteps of his followers, he allows himself to stop fully. The gritty warm feeling inside of his mouth prompts him to spit a mouthful of blood-sand mixture from his chapped lips, and unfortunately the metallic taste remains. Matt wipes his lips with the back of his hand, although it just smeared more ash and sweat onto his face.
Slowly, he stumbles under a tree and sits roughly, automatically folding his legs neatly. He was in no rush to leave. His wings unfolded as he flexed them, tired from being held in the uncomfortable position for a while. Long brown hair pools around him, blocking his vision. Matt pats the pockets of his black cargo pants for the clips to hold his hair back, then breezes over his white tank top, before quickly remembering that he lost his jacket in the fire. No clips. No hair ties either. Well, he's needed to remedy his hair situation for a while now, it's now or never.
Matt pulls his backpack off his shoulders, with practiced maneuvers over his wings, and quickly unzips the front pocket. Paper scraps, two pens, a little black pouch, and a pair of craft scissors fall out with a soft clink. Matt picks up the scissors and packs the rest into the bag again. He holds the scissors up to his face, inspecting them. Blood stains the base, from past times. Times he will never have to face again. Well, he's not going to waste water to clean them. He pulls the scissors away from his face and starts working on his hair. He feels lighter with every soft snip noise.
About ten minutes later, Matt sits under the tree, having disposed of the long scraps that were his mothers pride, and It felt good. He ran his hands through his short-boyish hair, admiring his work. It reached just past his ears now, the way he's wanted for years now. He felt masculine. Matt smiles and shakes his head violently, enjoying the feeling of stray pieces hitting his forehead.
Matt quietly sits and regathers his plan. First step was to escape his... home. That was accomplished, next is to travel to the City of Uvenla. Which, Matt knew how to get to. Then it was to take out the four incident reporters. Quietly. Matt has been planning for two months now, and he only figured out how to take them out quietly three days ago. Risky chance. But, it worked out, so it was a good one to take.
The boy stood up, his calf muscles burning, but he paid no mind. The sun blazed in the sky above, there were barely any clouds right now, good flying weather. Brushing off his black cargo pants, he picked up his backpack, expertly slinging it over his shoulders, following the familiar pattern that hooks it between his wings. Sling, hook, bend right, bend left- His comforting sequence was interrupted with a sudden sharp pain jolting through Matt's left arm. He releases all force in his arm and lets it dangle by his side. They were tracking him already.
Ik this is barely a chapter srry
