He lost himself in thought for a few minutes, enjoying the wind buffeting his frame as he glided on air, only occasionally flapping his wingspan to remain aloft. His gaze fell upon the mountain—the Lonely Nail it was called—and his thoughts turned back to his home in the east. He frowned, the joint in his wing ached, and he shook the thought from his head. He looked back down on the town and grimaced. His pack was still full of letters he needed to deliver. For the past few days since Warm had suggested the job, his usual shtick was to hang around the delivery office or just be seen walking about town with his hat on, letting people know he’d courier their goods.