I follow the car, at a distance, flapping my wings hard to keep up. Thank gods there aren't any people around, or the sight of a flying boy might freak them out a bit. Not that I care at this stage, I'm just focussing on trying to stop my lungs exploding. The really irritating part is that I can't keep up with them unless I try flying, which is a heck of a lot easier said than done. Particularly seeing as I collided with that damned skyscraper about two hours ago. People need to stop putting pointy bits on the top of those.
The car's moving faster than I thought it would, and my chest is heaving just trying to keep up. I've never much liked flying, it wears me out far too quickly. However, when we start approaching the mansion, I start to relax. As long as I don't collapse in the driveway, I'll be fine. Landing on top of the car seems my best bet at this stage, I need a rest and it'll hopefully mean I don't freak people out too much.
That is, if I can land on top without falling off. Being turned into ketchup is not high on my list of priorities today.
I push myself harder, feeling the muscles in my wings scream at me to stop. However, thank the lord, I do manage to land (very unelegantly) on the roof of the car. I think I might have caused a small "bump" but that ought to be the worst of it.
Now all I've got to do is hang on and hope nobody shoots me when they get out of the car. I don't think hitchikers are very welcome around here.
Particularly not hitchikers with wings...