Wings, they are sensitive. They are Grace, unbuffered from a vessel, immensely fragile. Feathers even more so. The privilege of touching another’s wing is the equivalent of them letting you touch their ehm junk. It’s just incredibly intimate. A primary reason why healers are held to high esteem. Also why few Angels know how to properly care for heavily injured wings. They sort of threw injured at the healers and cried “fix it”. Balthazar being one of them.
Balthazar fell, through several branches, knocking down a tree. The culprit being his burnt wing that had an angelic blade cut across and plunge into his wing muscles. It was stuck there and hurt to pull it out. He moaned sitting there, he wasn’t dead at least. Dying? It felt like it. He closed his eyes and then grunted as he tried to move. Bad idea. His wings were forced to materialize by the wounds the Angel blade made. The blade was stuck in his wing and he noticed both wings were tangled with branches. Good grief. He sighed and groaned. What to do? He was trapped, like a wounded bird, trapped.