
Winter's wings beat the air, the cold stinging along his fur and bringing a welcome chill down his spine. He pushed harder, the little winglets on his hooves even working to keep him moving, keep him strong. His body was small, but lean with new muscle.
Banking, he hit the ground running, snorting a puff of white as he galloped across the snow-crusted earth, his hooves pounding a hard stacatto beat in time with his thundering heart. He liked to push himself, inch by inch, until every muscle ached and thrummed with weakness.
It made him feel strong. In control. And beautiful. Not to mention, the pain was a bonus.
His lips curved into a smile as he slowed, flanks dark with sweat. The pain was a welcome reminder that he was alive.