Draiden pulled up the collar of his trusty, old coat against the chill breeze. It was unusually cold for a city on the coast like this. The sun was getting ready to set and the wind rolled up against him in waves. He looked just like any other homeless person in this place, except his hair wasn't dingy and rather than wreaking of garbage, if you got close enough to him, he smelled kind of sweet. He would have seemed a few inches taller if he didn't slouch as if the weight of the world were resting on his shoulders. As much as Draiden had grown accustomed to this planet, he wanted to go home. He wanted to pretend this never happened and go up and join his holy brethren and not have to hide his wings or his story. But he knew he couldn't. He had held onto the faith that his Lord and Master would one day call him back, one day forgive him and treat him with as much love and respect as He did these meek people for so long, he hadn't even noticed the hope slipping away. Until it was gone completely. He sat down wearily on a bench, and pulled out a hand-rolled cigarette and felt around in his pockets for a match. No such luck. He glanced around and saw another man sitting next to him.
"Excuse me. Sir?" he asked softly, the cigarette held gently between his teeth. The man jumped, apparently not expecting him to talk to him. "You wouldn't happen to have a match, would you?" There was an awkward pause and then the man seemed to register the question. He reached into his pant pocket and pulled out a small lighter, tossing it to Draiden. Draiden lit up, took a long drag, and then offered the lighter back to its owner. The man shook his head. "Keep it," he said, rising and walking off to find a more secluded place to sit and wait for God only knew what. Draiden sighed and tucked the lighter into his inside pocket for safe keeping. Then he leaned his head back and exhaled, letting the smoke waft upward in a silent prayer that he knew would go unanswered as he sat hidden in plain sight of the world.