March 16th excerpt:

Bowman fluttered up in front of the hunter to pass him on the way to his spot above the radio, the tip of a wing just barely brushing the front of the thick jacket Dean always wore. Best to do that before Dean was moving the Impala, as he knew the human would gripe at him for being a distraction.

He sat down on the dashboard with a huff, only twitching a little as the the Impala roared to life again. “It was cold in there,” he complained, quite glad to have left the strangely fake bright lights of that store. What little light had leaked into his pocket hiding place had fallen on his wings and provided none of the warmth it promised.

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