Another tearing sound precedes a precipitous dip on my right wing. I pull on a few cords to adjust back to level, and one of them snaps. With the clouds and the rain like this, I have no idea how high up I am - I only know that from where I started, a direct fall would have been certain death. My left hand is already holding the two halves of a branch I'd hoped would be sturdy enough, and I can feel my fingers going numb.
Are there trees below me? Could I maybe land in a lake? Will I break my head open on solid rock? Or am I merely feet above soft earth, and the grass that would catch me?
I don't know. I keep holding on to my wings, knowing that they'll eventually break, hoping that they won't do so just yet.