Seven saintly virtues…
White feathers stumped and painted crimson clung at his weary shoulders and stuck to his blood paddled feet, but still he walked. The small gift was safely cradled in his palms.
Nothing else mattered.
His soles cut to ribbons on the sharp rocks, the precious gift nestled in his hands. It would be delivered.
Even mortal pain would not stop him.
Finally, he reached the city walls. With his cargo passed carefully on, he curled alone on the dusty floor.
They found his body when death had taken him, forgetting the cure he’d delivered, recoiling instead at his torn wings.
Are your virtues this selfless…?
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