Airborne (edited 4/21/08)

The clouds hovered cold and gray above the aerie like masses of steel. I shivered as the damp breeze fluffed up the feathers tracing down from my neck to my shoulder blades. Digging my fingers deeper into the crevices of the cliff, I continued inching down the rock face. My bare toes were scraped and bleeding, battered to a fleshy pulp. Blisters reddened my palms, coloring them the muddy brick shade of my wings. The wind whipped my hair around my face. I could hear it whistling in my ears, its song angry and shrieking. “You are a failure, little bird-girl! Little sky-child! You do not belong, with your dull feathers and your weak wings. Failure.”

I shuddered again and slid the rest of the way down the wall of rock, landing clumsily on the cool, dew-dampened earth. There was no wind down here in the meadow; the sheer precipice stood sentry over the little clearing, guarding it from even the smallest current of air. The world was calm and still and quiet on the land, and I liked it. It felt safe.

I relaxed the muscles in my shoulders, allowing my nerveless wings to droop gently to the ground like wet paper. They were fifteen feet across, tip to tip. "Too small," the elders had whispered to each other. "Much too small. Useless. She will never fly. And those feathers! Those colors! So brittle, so dull, so dry, so weak." The elders frowned, the nestlings gaped, the fledglings gossiped, the mothers wept. And I stood mute as they told me I would never touch the heavens.

Useless.

Failure.

And so I fled from the wind and found shelter on the earth, knowing that my nestmates’ freedom would be the death of me. The song that whispered through their bright, healthy primaries would only scream condemnation the second my pinions beat the air. It was blasphemous to think that an ugly cripple like me deserved to be caressed by the sky.

Well, no matter. I preferred my meadow anyway.

I walked slowly to my favorite stream, feeling lazy and unhurried by the heaviness of the air. Grass tickled my callused heels and ankles, caked with dusty limestone from the cliff. Sliding slowly into the creek, I gasped as the sharp silky coldness of the water shocked me into full awareness, and I realized I wasn’t alone.

He sat cross-legged on the opposite side of the bank, wings fully extended to soak every inch of muscle and sinew in sun. The light brought out glimmering highlights of blue and purple in his dark feathers. Hair of the same color shadowed his eyes, the crisp blue of a midwinter sky. His skin shone ghostly pale, sculpted by wind and colored by cloud and rain. The vibrant clothes he wore marked him as a stranger, possibly a gypsy. I trembled, suddenly shy and ashamed of my drab gray curls, flat dark eyes, and undersized pinions. My skin had lost the smooth, glossy paleness I was born with, replaced with a rough hide browned by trees and earth and rock. Mortified, I jumped out of the stream, stammering an apology and wringing the hem of my dripping dress.

“I – I’m sorry, I didn’t know – I mean, I didn’t see you –”

He stood, smiling gently and folding his wings into the hollow of his back. “As far as I know, the stream belongs to everyone. You weren’t intruding.”

“Well, I…” My voice trailed off as he glided smoothly to my side and offered his hand. Blushing furiously, I slid my palm along his in a gesture of welcome.

“Your name?” he asked politely, his fingertips lingering on mine for a moment longer.

“Aira,” I whispered.

He smiled. “Aira,” he repeated, tasting each letter. “I like it. I’m Gryphon.”

Gryphon. The mythological half lion, half eagle. It suited him. I smiled nervously and tucked my thumbs into the worn pockets of my dress, trying to cover my awkwardness. I didn’t talk to boys. Actually, I rarely talked to anyone my age. Fledglings were so lively, so eager to try new things and go new places and learn new songs. Sometimes they frightened me. I was content with my solitude, with the silence of the valley where no wind-songs lingered in the lazy air.

“So,” the boy said with a grin. “If you don’t mind my asking, what are you doing so far from the aerie?” He gestured to the skies where my nestmates were swooping and gliding above the cliffs. I could hear them singing. Quickly I averted my eyes, before the solitude could deepen into an aching loneliness. “Well,” I said quietly, feigning indifference, “the elders do not feel it is entirely safe for me to be on the cliff all day. So I come here.”

He frowned thoughtfully. “Why would it not be safe?”

“They fear the wind will carry me off.”

His eyebrows rose to his hairline. “I was under the impression that was not a thing to fear.”

I shrugged uncomfortably.

But his pensive frown quickly melted into another wide grin. “Well, Aira, you must be quite an adventurer to have come to the valley in weather like this.” Again he gestured skyward, indicating the heavy gray thunderheads. “Be careful you don’t get caught in a flash flood. You know your waterlogged wings could drown you,” he warned.

“Oh,” I mumbled in surprise, glancing at the looming storm clouds. “I didn’t think of it.”

Smiling lopsidedly, he bowed and offered his hand. “In that case, madam,
it is my duty as a gentleman to escort you home as soon as the storm hits.”

Fear dug icy claws into my heart, and without thinking I blurted, “No, please!”

Surprise flickered over his face and he straightened awkwardly. “I apologize if I seem forward,” he murmured, avoiding my gaze. “I did not mean to offend you. The elders are always telling me that I –”

“Oh no,” I interrupted quickly. “No, that’s not it at all. It’s just –.” I hesitated. In all honesty, if it came to choosing between drowning and hearing the wild storm-song up in the aerie, I would take the water over the wind.

“I would just rather not…go home,” I finished lamely.

Concern etched deep lines into his alabaster forehead. “Please,” he said softly. “Forgive me for insisting, but I truly don’t want you to stay in the valley when the storm comes. Can we at least find higher ground?”

I swallowed hard and looked to the sloping hillsides where the wind gently brushed the wildflowers. “I…I suppose…” I said reluctantly.

“Wonderful!” His enthusiastic grin leapt back into place as he grabbed my hand and ran for the sloping foothills of the mountain. He was so fast and so strong; I stumbled as I tried to match his pace. My battered feet found every pebble and stick hidden in the grass, while he seemed to float effortlessly over the ground. Every movement was reminiscent of flight.

We finally reached the rippling green hills, the children of the craggy peaks where our kind dwelled in the aeries. Behind us a green carpet of grass flowed into the valley, lush and verdant, fed by the streams. Circling the meadow, the great cliffs rose against the iron sky like grave soldiers. A small shiver traveled up my spine as a delicate breeze whispered through the tall grasses. Gryphon lifted his head as the wind passed, his eyes half-closed, his lips curved upward in a small smile. “Hear that?” he murmured. “She’s welcoming you. Beautiful.”

My teeth chattered with fear and cold as I tried to ignore the ripples of air toying with the hem of my skirt. I heard no sweet sky-song, no gentle words of wisdom and praise. I heard only the shrieking accusations that had haunted me since I was born. “Papery pinions, dull and dry like dead leaves, scraps of stone, heavy as stone, fall to your death…”

And I ran. The pregnant sky burst open as I hurtled back towards the meadow, fat water droplets soaking into my hair and tattered dress. The music of the storm and the stream melded, creating a cacophony of sound that overwhelmed the ears with chaotic melody. The rain fell faster.

I finally stumbled and fell, panting, next to a boulder by the creek. I curled around myself, hugging my knees to my chest and huddling beneath my wings. The storm drowned out the sound of the wild wind, and I was grateful. I wrung out my damp hair and wrapped my arms around myself, shivering.

From somewhere within the heart of the storm a voice called out to me. I pressed my hands to my ears and closed my eyes. Leave me alone, I prayed silently. Sing your songs somewhere else. Just leave me alone.

“Aira!”

But this was not the voice of the wind. This voice held no condemnation or anger, only terror.

“Aira!”

I unfolded myself and stared into the storm.

A wall of slate-gray water was rushing towards me with the force of a thousand rainstorms, a thousand rivers. The raging flood tore away boulders and small stunted trees, tossing them as casually as a child throws stones. The water lashed at the cliffs, staining the white limestone a dark, ugly gray.

“Aira!”

I looked up, my breath rattling in my ribcage, my body paralyzed with terror. Gryphon hovered above me, his hands outstretched. “Fly!” he screamed. “Fly, Aira!”

My feeble wings responded involuntarily to his plea, fluttering like dry leaves in a stiff wind. My muscles burned. The floodwaters roared onward, charging through the meadow like a mad creature. I was sobbing, willing weak ligaments and tendons to flex, to contract, to lift me from the flood’s warpath before the mad beast tore me apart. Pain zigzagged through my shoulder blades, but my wings hung limp against my back. Sweat and tears and rain rolled down my cheeks.

“Fly, Aira!”

But I couldn’t fly.

Two strong, pale arms scooped me up and lifted me off the ground into the storm-song. “Little sky-child! Failure! FAILURE!”

I hid my face in my hands and pressed my forehead to Gryphon’s chest and let the tears come.








This is just the first half. I'll post more when I get some people's opinions. :)

I really liked this! The idea and plot are very original and refreshing. I think this should be moved to Fantasy Fiction, though...

Overall I think you need to add more description. Not necessarily visual description, but other senses--especially touch. I imagined it to be cold, but you really didn't say that much. For example, take this opening paragraph:

The clouds hovered cold and gray above the aerie like masses of steel. I shivered as the damp breeze fluffed up the feathers tracing down from my neck to my shoulder blades. Digging my fingers deeper into the crevices of the cliff, I continued inching down the rock face. My bare toes were scraped and bleeding, battered to a fleshy pulp. Blisters reddened my palms, coloring them the muddy brick shade of my wings. The wind whipped my hair around my face. I could hear it whistling in my ears, its song angry and shrieking.

You don't say anything about temperature here. I would imagine that it is painfully cold and her feet and hands are aching, almost numb from the chill but still able to feel the pain.

Also, you always talk about the wings almost like an unfortunate piece of clothing--Aira almost never feels cold or pain or anything in her wings. I would think that because they are so large their feelings would be the main feelings of her whole body. Or do the wings not have feeling? You should elaborate either way.

Other than that, here are a few line-by-lines:

Much too small. Useless. She would never fly. And those feathers! Those colors! So brittle, so dull, so dry, so weak.

This is completely a matter of opinion but I think you should put these in quotes... like this... "Much too small." "Useless!" "She will [<-- note change] never fly!" "And those feathers!" "Those colors!" "So brittle, so dull, so dry... so weak."

Sliding slowly into the creek, I gasped as the sharp silky coldness of the water shocked me into full awareness. And in my state of sudden awareness I realized I wasn’t alone.

Repetition of 'awareness' a simple reword should do here.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what are you doing so far from the aerie?”

What is HE doing so far from the aerie, I wonder...

Very good! Please PM me when you post more of this!

~Azila~

thanks a lot! Those are good points, I'll work on them!

i understand your confusion, and i'll explain as much as I can.

1. I intended to write about Gryphon being a traveler, a gypsie of sorts. But somehow it never came into the story. Maybe I should change that...

2. Aira's wings have almost no feeling in them. Because they have never been used, the muscles have atrophied and they're almost completely useless. So, in a sense, they are like unfortunate pieces of clothing.

So yeah, hope that helps.

lyrical_sunshine wrote:1. I intended to write about Gryphon being a traveler, a gypsie of sorts. But somehow it never came into the story. Maybe I should change that...

2. Aira's wings have almost no feeling in them. Because they have never been used, the muscles have atrophied and they're almost completely useless. So, in a sense, they are like unfortunate pieces of clothing.

1. You might want to mention that Aira could tell he was a traveler?

2. Oh, I see. Maybe you should mention that? Like have her think how useless her wings are and wish that she didn't have them at all, or something?

...And I really think this should get moved to Fantasy Fiction...

Good job overall, though!

~Azila~

1. Oooooh! Good idea! *goes to edit*

2. I thought I did... *shrugs, goes to edit some more*

An hour later I sat in a small hollow in the cliff, sheltered from both the rain and the wind. Gryphon sat across from me and watched mutely as I drew patterns in the dusty stone. “You don’t know how to fly,” he said. It was not condemnation or mockery or even pity, only a simple statement of fact.

I stabbed at the limestone with a stick, carving deep gashes into the white rock. “Too small,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Too weak. Dull, brittle feathers, terribly thin bones, timid nature –”

“Lies.” The word hissed between his teeth like a curse, echoing off the stone walls. I stared at him, taken aback by the sudden fierceness in his face.

“Wicked, cowardly lies,” he repeated, slamming his fist into the rock.

I shrugged, examining my dirty fingernails. “It’s what the elders said.”

“And I suppose you believe them,” he growled. “You believe that you are weak and ugly and worthless…”

“I am,” I said quietly. It was not false modesty. It was something I had accepted long ago as the unfortunate truth.

A snarl erupted from his throat, a ferocious sound that made me shy away from him, pressing my back against the rock. He inhaled deeply through his nostrils. “Forgive me,” he said through clenched teeth. “Cowardice disgusts me.”

“I’m sorry,” I said humbly.

“Not you.” He chuckled dryly. “The elders. Your nestmates. Those who knew that your size and shyness would keep you from the ways of the wind unless you were guided and taught. They knew you would have questions; you would need a mentor to fly with you and sing with you. You were different, and so you were a challenge. A challenge they did not accept. And so they pushed you aside and said that it couldn’t be done – that you were too small and too weak, when in reality they were just too proud.” He smiled bitterly and stood up. “Well, no matter. You have a teacher now.”

“Really,” I said, once again drawing pictures in the dust.

“Yes. You have me.”


When the sun burned away the storm, we stood at the mouth of the cave staring down at the meadow below. The flood had ripped away the riverbank and uprooted the tall, pale green grasses dotted with buttercups. It ravaged my haven.

“It could have been me,” I said softly. “It almost was.”

“You’re safe now,” Gryphon murmured.

I laughed, hearing the hysteria behind my voice. “Safe,” I said mockingly. “Of course. Standing on the edge of a cliff with dead, deformed wings, I’m safe.”

“They are not dead,” Gryphon said. “Nor are they deformed.”

My knees felt watery. “I can’t fly, Gryphon.”

“You can. You are of the sky and the wind. You were made to feel the sun on your face and the breeze at your back. You can fly.”

“The wind will not carry me,” I moaned. “She will let me fall.”

“She will not.”

“She hates me!”

“She has been waiting for you,” he said. “Since you the day you came into the world. She has a song just for you.”

“Her song screams for my death,” I sobbed.

He frowned, tilting my chin upward so I could look into his eyes. “Who told you this?”

“The wind,” I sniffed. “The wind tells me I am ugly and deformed – failure – I will die, fall to my death, I cannot fly, I cannot, I will die, I will –”

“Hush,” Gryphon whispered.

I shuddered. “You don’t understand.”

“That voice you hear is not the voice of the wind,” he said quietly. “I have heard her voice. I have heard her speak of you. Like a mother bragging about her child.”

“I am not her child,” I wailed. “She doesn’t want me. She never wanted me. Nobody wants me.”

“I do,” he said firmly. I blinked, staring up into his warm, sincere face.
“And the wind wants you,” he continued quietly, “and the sky, and the sun. They long to hold you, to dance with you.”

“But…but…” I groped blindly for an excuse. “I cannot fly. I will fall.”

“If you fall, I will catch you,” he said patiently. “But you can fly.”

I swallowed hard. “Well...alright. What do I have to do?”

He smiled. “You jump.”

“I what?” I gasped, staring down into the valley. “I just…just jump off? Just like that?”

“You jump, and your body does the rest,” he explained. “Are you ready?”

I hugged myself, clenching my bare toes. “You will catch me if I fall?”

“Of course.”

“Alright.” I squeezed my eyes shut and leaned forward, just enough to feel the texture of the breeze and the warmth of the sun.

“Jump, Aira,” Gryphon said gently.

“I’m trying!”

“No, you’re not. You’re pretending. You’re playing it safe. Jump, Aira. Trust me. Trust the wind.”

I did not trust the wind, but I did trust Gryphon, so I did as he asked. I
jumped.

And I fell.

My screams streamed out behind me, a trail of terror. The ground was rushing toward me, ready to devour me, to bury my bones in the wreckage from the flood. Knife-like shards of rock and twisted branches reached out to me, their teeth bared, ready for the kill.

Then Gryphon caught me.

“That was quite an adventure,” he said lightly.

“I hate you!” I sobbed, folding myself in my wings like a cocoon. “I hate you!”

“I know,” he admitted. “I understand. But I had to let you fall for a while.”

“Why?” I demanded. “You knew I would fall! Why didn’t you catch me like you said you would?”

“You have to fall before you can fly,” he said simply.

“I’m not going to risk it,” I growled. “I’m not going to fly again.”

“Again? You haven’t flown at all yet.”

I glared at him.

“It will be better this time,” he encouraged. “Trust me.”

“I do not trust you!” I shouted as he set me down inside the cave. “Why should I trust you?”

“Because I want to help,” he said. “Come. Try again.”

“No!” I screamed.

He sighed. “You can fly, you know.”

“I just tried, and I fell! Are you saying that falling is the same thing as flying?”

“Yes and no.” He shrugged. “Flying is like falling, but falling is not like flying.”

I shook my head. “You’re insane.”

He grinned. “Possibly."

I stared at him.

“Leaping off a cliff is rather insane,” he admitted. “And yet I do it. You just did it. Your nestmates do it, and yet none of us is especially mad. What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.” I sat down and faced the mouth of the cave, avoiding his gaze. But he continued.

“I’ll tell you what it means,” he said conversationally. “It means that our souls so long for the sky that we would risk our lives for a few moments of flight. We cannot be content on land when the wind is calling. We are not insane. We simply prefer death to a soulless existence.”

“Am I soulless, then?” I demanded.

“You are torn,” he said softly. “That is why you are angry. You yearn for the sky, yet you have been told that she is beyond your reach.”

I stared stonily out into the sky, still ignoring him. A light breeze sprang up, hissing through the small cave and toying with strands of my hair. “Little sky-child...come dance with me…”

I sucked in a sharp breath as if a wasp had stung me. The gentle voice giggled softly and died away. “What was that?” I asked.

“What?” Gryphon asked, tilting his head to listen.

“That…that voice…” I stood and leaned forward, straining to hear.

“Aira…sky-child…I know your name…”

A sudden jolt of electric energy shivered through my spine. My wings twitched. “Who are you?” I shouted.

“FAILURE!”

I gasped and drew backwards, stunned into silence by the familiar words.

Gryphon exhaled loudly. “Ah. I see.”

“Sky-child…” The first voice laughed, a sweet, silvery sound. “Come dance. Jump, fly, risk, love, laugh, live…come dance with me…”

“Papery pinions, dull and dry and dead, feeble wings made of frail feathers, ugly and mottled with stained s –”

“Aira…sweet child, I know you…come dance. Come laugh. No more tears.”
I looked at Gryphon. “There are two voices.”

He nodded. “He is very good at imitating the song. But he often underestimates her.”

“Who is he?” I asked.

Gryphon nodded to the meadow below us. “He has nurtured you for a long time, making you think that his lair was your haven, your safe harbor. But in reality, he filled your mind with poisonous lies while weakening your body. He is a master of deception, the Lord of the Earth.”

“The meadow?” I whispered. “Lord of the Earth? But I…I thought it was the wind…”

“FAILURE!”

Gryphon laughed softly. “His demands should never be mistaken for wind-song. He is far too pushy. The wind whispers and woos, while he screams his hatred.”

“All this time…” I murmured. “He was using me.”

“Oh no,” Gryphon said. “He was destroying you.”

I shuddered involuntarily. “So…so my skin…my wings…”

He nodded slowly. “He crippled you, and all the while the wind sang for your healing.”

“Sweet sky-child, blessed girl…come dance…”

Something strong and heady like fire sank into my bones and sang through my blood. A tickle began to bubble up through my chest and into my throat, finally bursting out of my mouth as hysterical laughter. Energy vibrated in every feather and muscle and tendon. My wings trembled, flexed, stretched upward like banners. Tears rolled down my face, mingling with the laughter.

I leaped.

I fell.

My wings beat the air and my heart thudded in my chest. I was terrified and yet exhilarated and in that instant I didn’t care if I died, didn’t care if the earth devoured me, because I could feel muscles contracting in my shoulders and the wind beneath my wings.

And suddenly I was no longer falling. I was flying. I was rocketing upward into the lavender sky, and I could feel the golden light on my face, and I could feel the wind caressing my dirty cheeks. “Sweet Aira, sweet sky-girl, I missed you so…”

I lifted my hands to the sky and watched as the dirty brown was washed in white and the colorless feathers of my wings burned crimson. Thin gray hair streamed behind me and blushed with tawny gold and scarlet. I laughed again and shot back to the mouth of the cave like an eagle. Gryphon was grinning on the edge of the cliff, staring up at me with his hand shading his face.

“Come dance with us!” I laughed, tugging on his hand. His grin widened and he leaped, catching my wrists like an acrobat and pulling me close. For an instant our wings quivered in sync, stirring the air and creating a song all their own.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“I did nothing,” he said. “It was the wind.”

“You taught me to jump,” I replied. “You taught me to hear her song. Thank you.”

He leaned forward and kissed my forward, his lips cool and light on my skin. He smelled of sunshine and sweet winter frost.

And the wind sang.







I don't know why, but I don't really like the second to last line. *shrug* opinions, anyone?

Great, Great story. You're right though, the second to last line does seem a little awkward. You've got a boyfriend, describe what it's like when you kiss him. Shoot if you still need help why don't you ask him for a demo lol. What caused you to write this story anyway?

lol. good point, maybe i should go ask him for a demo...
this story was inspired by a poem that I wrote called "Today" that was sort of metaphorical. it was about a bird letting go of her fears and learning to fly. i really liked the idea so i wrote a story.

thanks for reading it! ...again.

I liked this heaps!

No, seriously. =)

Hair of the same color shadowed eyes the crisp blue of a midwinter sky.

I don't know what's wrong, but the first bit just doesn't sound right.

Two strong, pale arms scooped me up and lifted me off the ground into the storm-song. “Little sky-child! Failure! FAILURE!”

The way this is structured makes it look like Gryphon is saying the dialogue. And you missed the italics.

I did not trust the wind, but I did trust Gryphon, so I did as he asked. I
jumped.

A few of your sentences are spaced weird, with bits on one line and bits on another where they shouldn't be.

“In that case, madam, i
it is my duty as a gentleman to escort you home as soon as the storm hits.”

Like here. And the bit in bold... typos?

He leaned forward and kissed my forward, his lips cool and light on my skin. He smelled of sunshine and sweet winter frost. I angled my head and brought my mouth to his.

And the wind sang.

The last line is brilliant. The bit before is... I don't know, does she have to kiss him at all? They have only just met. Even if you leave it, it is awkward, and I have no idea how to remedy it.


---


This was really well written, and very enjoyable to read. I really enjoyed, and the personification of the wind and the earth was brilliant. The poetry of the wind and sun and sky affecting the bird-thingies [what are they called, btw?] is fantastic.

So, yeah. I liked it.

Hey, thank you guys for your input! I've edited it, so if you'd like to take another look, feel free.

Haha, this story was really cool in a way that it had its own sort of mythos around it. Very creative, like Greek myth meets 'The Little Engine that Could.'

Something strong and heady like fire sank into my bones and sang through my blood. A tickle began to bubble up through my chest and into my throat, finally bursting out of my mouth as hysterical laughter. Energy vibrated in every feather and muscle and tendon. My wings trembled, flexed, stretched upward like banners. Tears rolled down my face, mingling with the laughter.

This was really well written. Very vivid.

I like the idea of a kind of bird-people, with a cliff-nest culture. Their physical descriptions are also very innovative. The society isn't really explored very much though. Who are the Elders, how are they chosen? Are their men in this society? I can't tell, Mother's are mentioned and it's mentioned Aira doesn't talk to them.

If it's on purpose, it's cool, but Gryphon's background is really shallow. He's said to be maybe a gypsy, but his motives aren't really explained. Why is he helping Aira, why was he down by the pool? Are their multiple societies of winged beings? Like, you mention he's a traveler and then we don't really get any more. It's perhaps secondary to the point of the story (Aira's attempt to fly), but it would help flesh out their relationship.

When she drops down through the air, I was kind of surprised to not see much mention of temperature or wind resistance. You describe the weather at the top of the cliffs as being cold. When she falls that cold should be biting, the wind should tear at her and toss her around if she can't generate the force with her wings.

I'm not real great at correcting grammar. Sorry, if that's what you were looking for. I thought this was a very imaginative well written story with a good message. I enjoyed it. You should merge part one and two together into the first post, so the reader doesn't get yanked out of the narrative by other posts.