She left the monkey in the safety of her now dry scarf on the outcropping and left for her morning hunt.

A buck fell in her grasp, thin and stringy beneath its thick wool, but she forced it down regardless. To reach home faster, to have a professional save the monkey.

On the way back, she briefly washed up in the nearby stream, then carefully grabbed the monkey, complete with scarf, from the outcropping and went on another long day of flying.

Only, flying while carrying something in her talons wasn’t that easy. She stopped constantly to check if the monkey was still alive, that it wasn’t too cold, that…

On the third such stop, she reapplied ointment to its wounds, wrapped them with large leaves and then tied it to her breast with the scarf. It took her three tries before she had the proper length to tie the scarf at her shoulder, instead of her back. And another seven tries went into tying the provisional harness so that it wouldn’t hamper her wings or tail.

With the unconscious monkey thus settled, she carefully took off again, rising into the air painfully slow, as not to jolt it.

She was getting better at these hovering-like starts, but she hated them. Jumping into the air before flapping her wings was much easier. And faster.

The wind had picked up the whole morning, making landing on an outcropping for a short midday break a difficult and dangerous operation. Somehow, she managed, but she didn’t feel safe. Thick black clouds blotted out the sun, and the wind was still pulling at her, trying to throw her off her.

The monkey was slowly burning up in its harness, worrying her even more. The wounds didn’t want to close – one furrow even went down to the bones! It needed medicine that she didn’t have.

Gobbling down an apple, Rethia threw herself back into the wind, quickly taking distance from the cliff.

What had been her beacon of safety for the duration of her trip was now a deadly wall.

If I crash against the cliff, I’ll be dead. And then who will save the monkey?

An hour later, the strong winds got company by a pouring rain, making any further thoughts of gliding impossible. If she stopped moving her wings, wind and rain would make her crash. Either into the cliffside, or the ground. Both options were deadly.

I’ll make it! I’m close. I know I’m close! I won’t be stopped by a bit of rain! Not by a little wind!

Raindrops stung her eyes, making it hard to see. Water drenched her feathers, sapping her strength away. The freezing wind stole the warmth from her body. The only bright spot was the feverish monkey, its high temperature keeping her front warm. It also meant that it was still alive.

There was still a chance. The reason she was still moving. Because who would help them both, if not her?

How long…? The village… I have to fly lower. The village is… lower than the plateau. Thank the Sprites that there is still some kind of daylight to see the edge. Else I would be lost. How far down is the village? Can I even find it in this cursed storm?

Lightning cracked down, singing her feathers, followed by deafening thunder.

Disoriented, she fell up? Down? Which way is it? This is madness! I… I have to!

Somehow she got her wings back under control and found the wall of the plateau again. The mixed forest below was dangerously close.

I have to go… left. The village is on the left side. And up. Wait. Is… is that a light? That’s no illusion, right? No dream? It hurts too much, for death.

She rubbed her eyes on her wing and squinted. Indeed, there was a light somewhere in front of her. A steady, unflickering light.

Flying closer, she recognized the structure of the Floating Baskets, the baskets themselves tied down against the storm.

Home!

She dived down along the path of the Floating Baskets, following the lashing ropes, that were connected to the platform down in the village.

The raindrops slowed down, as her downward speed increased, seeming to hang still in the air.

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More lights grew out of the dim light, illuminating some crossings and buildings of the village, leading her. Her wings unfolded to break her dive, stopping her from rushing straight into the buildings. The rain began pelting her again, the wind trying to throw her every which way. At least it wasn’t so strong anymore. Maybe the storm was letting up?

Not the platforms. The caves. The shaman. Shamans are medics in tribal societies. She can save the monkey. But where is her cave? I… I… oh, I know that platform. Her cave is left from here. Where? Where is it? There are only a few caves, it can’t be so difficult to find! Where? There should be lights- oh, there is a new light there, in the cliffside. Maybe that’s it. Or it’s the food hall. Either is good enough at this point. Isatha said they are connected inside. A cave system or something.

Frozen wings pulled tight, she tumbled into the small cave opening, trailing a wave of cold air.

===

Isatha huddled on one of the many perches that ran from one end of the Shamans Cave to the other, alternately looking between Celia and the entrance.

The whole flock was around her, taking up every available space.

With that storm about, it was impossible for them to fly. A brave few were tasked to walk the nearby bridges, to keep the lights on. A tiny beacon of hope for those that had been swept away as the storm had hit.

It wasn’t the stormy season yet, but they did get a really bad one every few years. Hopefully, Rethia had found a safe place to weather it. Not that she was expecting the fool child to return within the next two days. The wyverns should’ve kept her busy for a day or two. And getting past the giant eagles should’ve taken her another extra day. But she worried nonetheless.

The girl had learned flying much faster than other hatchlings, and if she got accustomed to long-distance flights just as quickly… And who knew how far the storm reached?

As soon as it had blown over, she would fly to check. The girl was alive. She had to believe that she was alive.

A commotion at the entrance dragged her unruly thoughts back to the present.

A ball of wet feathers tumbled through the crowd and came to a shivering stop, the surrounding harpies pulling away to give whoever had arrived some space. Nearby warriors immediately congregated to the spot, in case it was an attack.

One of the warriors pocked the ball with the blunt end of her spear and it unfurled with a groan, revealing a very familiar head of red hair.

“Rethia!” screeched Isatha, hop-skipping from her perch and landing in the open space next to her pupil. Everyone watched, the warriors still wary, but somewhat relaxed.

Isatha wrapped the shivering girl in her own warm wings, examining her for any kinds of wounds. There were none, though she was frozen to the core, soaked wet and utterly exhausted. And for whatever strange reason, she had tied the scarf around her like a harness.

Curious, Isatha tugged at the knot, loosening it to reveal one of the silk monkeys, feverish and with three gastly wound on its back.

“Isatha, is everything alright?” Meran, on of the males and her nest-brother, stepped out of the crowd to check on her.

“No! Nothing is alright!” she cried, her cracking voice echoing through the hushed silence of the cavern, disturbing even the shaman in her communication with the Sprites. Not that she noticed the scowls she got from Celia and the Matriarch that was standing beside the altar.

“This fool of a hatchling flew through that storm to save a monkey! Can you believe it?!”

Whispers ran through the crowd.

“She did what?” Meran circled around, unbelieving. Indeed, who would do such a crazy thing? Sighting the monkey, his claws grabbed it without further question, cradling it. A weak blue wing was raised in protest.

“Don’t worry, I’ll patch it up again,” he pacified Rethia and vanished into the crowd. “If that is even possible…”

“Please…” whispered Rethia, her wing falling back down, glassy eyes staring after Meran.

“What is going on here? Isatha, why did you interrupt our prayers to the Great Sprites?” demanded the Matriarch, her voice cutting through the growing whispers like a knife through butter. Her white and brown feathers were neatly arranged, only accenting her imposing appearance.

Isatha scooped up the shivering form or her pupil, careful to even get the wings properly stationed and stood up to face her queen. She felt tears rolling down her face, yet she smiled proudly.

“My queen. Nine days ago, this hatchling left on her First Flight. Today, she returned to us with her own might. I didn’t expect her back for another two days.”

“Through that storm?” The matriarch raised an eye. “Bring her to me. Let me see the fool soul that dares to throw herself against that madness. For a monkey, no less. Didn’t you teach her common sense, Isatha?”

The crowd parted ways, giving Isatha a clear path right to the front. Her pupil cradled in her wings, she walked forwards.

“I remember this one. Isn’t she one of the Lost?” asked the matriarch, glancing at the shivering girl.

“After loosing her memory for no aparent reason, the Great Sprites have declared her a True Child of the Winds. Since then, she has not once vanished upon us like all the other Lost,” interrupted Celias crackling voice. “And none of the Lost have ever finished their flight training, much less challenged the First Flight. A fool, she may be, but a brave fool, I dare say. To risk her life and wings to save one of our silk monkeys, instead of hiding in safety and letting it die.”

The matriarch gave Celia an unblinking stare, briefly mulling over the information, before turning back to Isatha.

“Then I declare this: Not as a Lost, but as a True Child of the Winds, who has returned to us from her First Flight. If the Great Sprites deem her worthy, she will receive her blessing, once she has awoken, and join our flock as an adult and full member. If the Great Sprites are unsatisfied with her, she will receive the chance of a second trial, as is common in our flock.” Her voice filled the cavern, reaching every harpy within and eliciting a chorus of exicted, happy screeches.

“Isatha, be a dear and bring her to the back. Have a healer look at her and keep watch. I take it Meran is already looking after the monkey? What a good boy. And what a foolish child.” Celia shook her head, muttering something under her breath, as she turned back to the altar.

Isatha lowered her head and did as she was told.

She helped the healers get Rethia dry and wrapped up in heating stones. She fetched hot soup from the mess hall, where several of the males were preparing dinner, and slowly trickled it into Rethias mouth.