As the elderly man struggles to keep pace with his companions, stumbling up the dusty ridge toward the awaiting Maw, Wilhelm searches his face for the young man he must have once been. Had he ever yearned for something different than what he was handed? In all their faces, he searches for hints of anything beneath the grim determination, the weary resignation, all different shades of desperation.

"They don't want to live here either. Who would want to live like this?"

His voice rises like a storm gathering mass. The shadows that compose his wings rustle restlessly at his back.

"If something happened to make them turn away from us, then if we help them, if we do something to prove we give a shit about them...maybe they'll choose differently."