"Ah, but were the deepest cuts those to her . . . her wings or the ones dealt to her heart?"

Diaval twitched at the words - even more at the sage tone in which they were delivered - and bit back an insult as he resettled his wings, glaring down at the know-nothing little sprites pitying his Mistress; as though they hadn't first condemned her before fleeing to shelter beneath the mantle of her wings when threatened, then returned to judging her.

Diaval croaked and dove from his perch right between the sprites before soaring away, laughing to himself at their high-pitched screeches.