Winter whistled, then fluttered off and led the way. He hated how familiar this path was. How often had Aspid taken him out in his cage and asked him to sing while he foraged for ingredients? So many times...

When they reached the little house, Winter slowed down, hesitating outside, then fluttering through the door that was slightly ajar.

Inside everything was as it had been, only with more dust and cobwebs than usual. It was dark and cold, and on the small table Aspid had eaten his dinner at every night sat Winter's old cage.

Drawn to it, the pixie landed beside it, reaching out to touch the bars. Inside his tiny hay bed was rotten and neglected, and he cooed sadly as he wandered around the outside.