Whenever the house grew quiet, he opened his green eyes and listened. Somewhere beyond the window, the wind whispered, a branch creaked, and sometimes he thought someone was calling his name.
He dreamed of finding a place where no one would be afraid of his wings, his tail, or his slightly excessive number of teeth.
Then one morning, he was found sitting in the middle of the room.
He didn't explain anything.
He only looked out the window — toward the place where the sky began.
Since then, small black footprints sometimes appear on the windowsill at night.
And nobody knows where he flies.