They crashed onto a boundary wall in a secluded alley, the dingy street illuminated only by the light of a single street-lamp that flickered wearily on the opposite footpath. Its mates had long since given up the fight against short-circuits and poor maintenance and stood lifelessly beside it, like the statues of a forgotten age. Ruban thought that he must be heavily concussed to be waxing lyrical about malfunctioning streetlights – even in the obscure depths of his own head – and tried to focus on his surroundings in a more grounded fashion.

To say that the ride had been a turbulent one would have been an understatement. It was like riding a storm – exhilarating and terrifying at the same time – as Ashwin flew haphazardly over the city, his movements simultaneously swift and uncoordinated, swaying from side to side with the wind like a drunken bird. The landing had been as rough as the flight and Ruban spared a moment to be thankful that he hadn’t had anything to eat in over twenty-four hours. He would have been puking his guts out, if only he had had anything in his stomach to throw up.

Shifting slightly, he reached a hand out to check on Hiya. She had landed against his chest when they crashed into the wall, which would probably lead to a few bruised ribs for him, but at the moment, that was the absolute least of his problems. Hiya was breathing a little fast, but seemed otherwise unharmed. Her fingers curled around his hand as he touched her face lightly and she looked up at him with tired eyes. The excitement of the flight had faded, and she looked just about ready to drop off right there on the sidewalk.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, running a gentle hand through the tangled mess of her hair.

“Nope,” she mumbled, snuggling against him, her eyes falling shut.

Holding the girl against him, Ruban sat up, peering at his surroundings through bleary eyes, trying to determine their exact location. The few shopfronts lining the street were all shuttered, the hour too late for business, and there weren’t any other location markers that he could see. He wished he still had his phone, but he had left it in the car, which he was sure had been burned to a crisp by now.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Turning back to look over the boundary wall against which he sat, he noticed that it surrounded a large white-and-green building, its walls decorated with generic murals depicting nature and greenery.

Taking a leaf out of his cousin’s book, Ruban almost squealed.

The building faced away from them, but there was no mistaking that design. They had landed behind Hermanos General, one of the biggest hospitals in the city. He could have wept with relief.

Struggling to his feet with the sleeping Hiya in his arms, he began to make his way around to the main entrance of the hospital. As he turned the corner, however, something made him look back at the prone figure lying unconscious on the sidewalk. Ashwin’s wings had disappeared, although a few silvery feathers still lay scattered around him, denying Ruban the reprieve of pretending that the last couple of hours had never happened. Still, he looked almost human like this – eyes closed, dark hair spilled across the sidewalk like someone had splattered Zainian ink on the stone.

And he had brought them to the hospital. Ruban supposed he wouldn’t have done that if he had been planning to murder them at his own leisure.

It made no sense. Aeriels didn’t help humans, didn’t make friends with humans, any more than a human would willingly befriend an Aeriel. Not if they had any self-preservation instinct anyway.

After a moment’s hesitation, Ruban limped back into the alley, unbuttoning his tattered coat as he went. Taking the garment off, he threw it lightly over Ashwin, leaning down to push the unconscious creature further into the sidewalk, out of the way of any oncoming vehicles. Not that there was likely to be much traffic at this time of the night.

Then he turned back and strode briskly towards the hospital gates – or as briskly as his mutilated calf would allow. He needed to get Hiya to a doctor, and hopefully find some painkillers for himself. And it wasn’t like a hospital would do an Aeriel with a wing-injury much good anyway. He would think about what to do with Ashwin once his body stopped feeling like it had been run over by a truck carrying a stable full of rampaging horses.