When he swallowed around the tension coiling his muscles, an idea lit him up. He had to work at it, adrenaline left his mouth dry, but he managed to work up a mouthful of saliva and spat it onto his fingers. Ugh, disgusting. But he needed water more then he needed his aversion to germs at the moment.
Fingers damp, Zeke wriggled his hand between the cloth and sleek silk feathers. He worked the liquid, and tried not to dwell on it, into the tacky bits he couldn’t see. It helped. Zeke kept his hand pressed to the left wing when he had to tug harder so it didn’t jostle more than necessary, and except for a pained whimper or two, Haziel didn’t even twitch as the shredded cloth came away.
Zeke’s gasp went unheard when the damage was revealed in the low double light.
That strand must have been
