When their mouths were closed, though, they looked like little sleeping children, no older than two years old, snug in their bedrolls. Every yawn, you were reminded of those fangs - but they almost seemed like an afterthought if you considered how gorgeous their feathery wings were. Some brown, some white, some red, all gathered there in the bassinet. Curling together for warmth, looking as if they couldn’t hurt a fly let alone people, which is what the rumors said. Their pearlescent hair coiled around their chubby bodies, rising and falling with their breaths.

We stood around, looking down at them. This was the first litter of such creatures birthed in King Aron’s reign. He had sent messengers to observe them, and I was among the crew. If they showed any sign of violence, I was to end them, immediately. The fangs, technically, were a sign of violence. But I couldn’t do it. As the others walked away, eager to report back to their masters, I bundled the sleeping angels and held them under my arm.

Now, all these years later, I of course wish I hadn’t done that.