If it could scream, it would have come right then. The pain shot through the body - still capable of feeling the full spectrum of that pain, no matter how otherwise insensible it might seem - and the helpless spasms of the wings started all over again.

Useless. The wing barely responded to the butterfly's attempts to move it. It would never fly again, even if a miracle made it survive to leave this place.

What was there to be thankful for in this?