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Rubbing his wing, he smiled. "I'll do that." Now that he knew no one was watching him, and now that he wasn't light-headed from the stress of showing off to the ladies, he dissolved into silence, staring at the far wall as he remembered his conversation with Blackthorn. With a chuckle he remembered his chickhood days, when he would sit out by the camp border, hoping that his brother would come for him. The chuckle faded when the loneliness of those nights stole over him like daybreak, and he fingered the scar that Blackthorn had given him. It was, he thought sadly, the only thing he had ever given to him. Although he wanted with all his heart to accept Blackthorn's apology, he knew that to do so would be foolhardy. In the end, all Blackthorn cared about, was himself.
"I forgot to ask," said Thorntalon while stowing away some vials, "Who or what hurt you?"
"I hurt myself," Bloodwing said, shrugging, trying to hide his discomfort behind a self-mocking grin. "Accidentally tumbled through some bramble bushes."