Sam digs himself out from the snowdrift for the third time, cursing and spitting out flakes; how's the stuff even getting into his crotch through that uniform? If anyone had told him that before soaring like a falcon he'd be spending weeks flopping around like a penguin, he might have reconsidered enrolling in the program. But then he thinks about all the things he could do when he finally manages to get those wings under control, grits his teeth and takes off again.
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