Diaphanous (noun): very sheer and light

Crimson. Slippery. All over the leaves.

The little green bird clung uselessly to a branch, hanging on by pure instinct as spreading waves of pain fogged over its mind. Its vision was dappled with dizzying spots, although being able to see would not make a difference.

A blood feather had snapped.

With each pulse of the little bird’s heartbeat, it could feel another fragment of its life flowing out of the broken shaft. Although its body drooped, it felt itself getting lighter and lighter, as if wispy clouds had replaced its wings.

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The green bird snapped awake in a panic.

Gone were the lumpy ridges of the tree branch that had been underneath its feet, and in its place, was the softest blanket it had ever felt. The gentle lilac fabric covered the ground, holding a bowl of water and seeds next on top of it.

Then it saw the metal bars. Of a cage.

Terror shot like lightning through its veins, and the little green bird shrieked. Thrashing and biting and clawing, the bird struggled against its entrapment and the implication of lost freedom.

Suddenly, a pair of gloved hands reached down from somewhere in the sky. The voice that accompanied it was kind, probably belonging to a vet. It gripped the cage door firmly and jerked it open—

The little green bird catapulted into the air, never once looking back.