Sam could only try to imagine--her power was a little more tied to her than his wings. He missed those, but he'd been without them before. He imagined it was closer to stories he'd heard about fellow soldiers losing appendages or body parts. He hoped Wanda would adjust, but he hated that she had to do that at all.

He glanced skyward then just shrugged, "I was on my third lap anyway. It's not a big deal and I should probably start getting to the inn to make breakfast anyway." He paused and then asked, "You want to come? I'll let you chop things into tiny pieces." He wasn't sure if giving her a knife was the best solution, but honestly he'd always found cooking to be good for his own stress -- though he knew that didn't always work for everyone.