Something about the Travellers

Feathers and Questions

It was morning in the hospital, when he opened his eyes.
At least it looked like a hospital.
The bed felt like a hospital bed, the walls were painted hospital drab white, the nurses looked like nurses, and even the patient asleep beside him looked properly ill.
Out the window, across the way, was another building connected to his. He could see other patients in those windows. One was having a coughing fit. Other nurses ran to the old man's aid.
Okay, so it was a real hospital.
But what was he in for?
No records on the walls stated his illness or injury; indeed, not even recommended treatments were posted. No nurses came to tend him, and all the patients slept. He didn't feel sick, nor in any pain... Why was he here?
Maybe he was being released today.
He sat up, and pulled the covers off. Someone at the desk could help.
His footsteps rang out coldly on the tile, suddenly getting lighter. He felt lighter. As he reached the doorway, he was as free as the air.
And then he was gone.