The entire hotel room was red-- the walls, the beds. The lights at the head of the bed glowed incandescently. Teige had dragged a low chair over to the foot of one of the beds and was now lounging on it, munching on pizza that dripped with grease.

"Whaaaalll, lookee," he said sardonically, as Hawk leaned into the large mirror over the sinks, searching his jawline for stray feathers, "All back to normal. What'd I tell ya? Oi," he added, "quit preening and come eat some proper food."

Hawk ignored this. All the extra feathers and all the scaly skin had actually dropped off--his face, his shoulder, his arm had all gone totally back to normal, as if nothing had ever happened. He paused, and then glanced over his shoulder at Teige, a grin spreading across his face.

"Hey," he said, "didja like being in the middle of nowhere for five days?"

"No," Teige said simply, "Why?"

"'S too bad about the next couple a' weeks then, huh?"

Teige's brow knit slightly, and he glanced at the map, which lay spread out on the bed beside him. Just past Fort Summer was a long stretch of water punctuated only by a series of featureless islands, labeled in tight, small type 'Alka Wildlife Preservation Area.'

"...Ah," Teige mumbled, "fuck me."