Grey blocks rose around her, higher than trees, higher than mountains, scraping at the dreary clouds. Not a single color around. She was walking… somewhere. No start, no goal, yet… someone was walking beside her? Yes, there was company. There was laughter. There was… a feeling. Of belonging. Yet not belonging.

Masses of people slowly pushed down the street, running endlessly, like a river towards the distant sea. And like the river, she needn’t know her origins nor her goal. Following the mass was just fine. Or was it?

Her companion grabbed at her arm, pulled her forwards, towards somewhere. A wide translucent wall, with life-like puppets inside, all dressed differently. She laughed and followed.

But why did she laugh? Why follow? Her heart longed for the grey sky, instead of being bunched up with strangers. For the warmth of feathers, the company of the wind. And the courage to fly.

The grey blocks vanished, replaced by a shrinking circle of the sky above. A dreary thing, it was. Grey in grey, with washed out clouds hurrying along, as if afraid of something. The rim of the circle was first haunted by faces, looking worried, scared, shocked. Until it shrunk to thankfully exclude them. She only wanted the sky, no matter how terrible it looked.

But the circle continued to shrink, to dim, stealing the promise of freedom from her. She wanted to scream. To shout! To trash around! Stand up and fly, before it vanished forever!

Instead, an oval shadow pushed between her and the sky, crying tears.

Her vision shook, and then… nothing.

She floated in darkness to the sound of strange birds peeping in controlled intervalls and insects whirring rythmically. As if someone had taught a flock of sparrows and a swarm of insects to peacefully coexist and then made them into an orchestra.

Rethia crouched in front of the altar, looking up at Celia performing the rites. To the left of the altar stood the Matriarch, her imposing eagle-like features unreadable. To the right stood Isatha, her owlish face a changing tapestry of expectant joy and fear.

A week had passed since her crazy flight through the storm. She still couldn’t believe that she had risked life and wings to save a monkey of all things! At least it was healthy enough again to move around, though it still spent most of its days sleeping. Preferably curled around her neck, like right now, nonchalantly sleeping through the most important event in her entire life.

Well, her wings were also restored. Apparently, they had been close to freezing of - not that she remembered much.

Celia turned, extracting the necklace Rethia had been given and pricking her wings, taking another drop of blood. Why did all the rites need blood to function? Couldn’t they find something else? Teardrops maybe?

Celia threw both into the bowl between the statuettes and raised it towards the middle of the ceiling.

Rethia followed it with her eyes, for the first time seeing larger statues growing out of the ceiling. They looked similar to the statuettes.

“Behold, the verdict of the Great Sprites!”

She couldn’t see into the bowl, but she heard the rustling of feathers, as the gathered flock leaned forward in anticipation. The Great Sprites would now judge her journey.

Faintly, she could see hazy pictures between the ceiling-statues. Distorted as they were, she couldn’t make out what they showed. Something that could’ve been the maw of a wyvern. Maybe the lone mountain with its gown of clouds. The buffalo? Maybe? And that striped yellow form could’ve been that tiger. If those pictures really showed parts of her journey. But one showed unmistakably a lightningstrike, making the hazy colors vanish.

The eyes of the ceiling-statues lighted up briefly, before going dark again.

A murmur went through the crowd.

Rethia tried to read the situation from the three faces in front of her: The matriarch was like stone. Unreadable. Celia had difficulty controlling the corner of her lips, but her eyes crinkled with mirth. Isatha was baffled.

The bowl was returned to its place on the altar. Celia spread her wings wide, addressing the cavern.

“The Great Sprites have judged your First Flight and deem you worthy. They name thee Firewing, for the courage you proved by saving another life.” Her loud voide boomed in Rethias ears. Somehow, Celia looked both relieved and like she was laughing over a private joke.

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The stony-faced matriarch stepped forward next, spreading her wings to their full width: “My children! Let us welcome Rethia Firewing into our flock as our youngest sister! May she dance in the skies with us till the end of time!”

The flock screeched behind Rethia. I made it? Although I had help from those Landbound? I’m an adult now? A true member of the flock? Really?

She couldn’t believe it yet. As if in a trance, she accepted the claws of the matriarch, who pulled her to her talons and wrapped her in a quick, feathery hug.

“Welcome, Wind-Sister.”

And then the hug was over. Celia stepped up and did the same. Whispered the same welcoming words into her ears. And then the male harpies hugged her. And another harpy. And another. Until every adult member of the flock had hugged her once. Welcomed her into the flock.

Rethia remained frozen to her spot, not knowing what to do. How to react. She didn’t notice the harpies leaving the cave after hugging, welcoming her.

Isatha was the last to hug her, telling her how proud she was, pulling her out of the cavern and into the sky, where the flock was hovering, waiting for them.

Rethia laughed, happy tears rolling down her cheeks, drenching the fur of the monkey. She had never felt so warm, so welcomed! This. This was home.

They celebrated for two days, feasting on delicacies, showing of colorful sashes, dancing in elaborate patterns through the sky, racing each other.

It was fun, but eventually, they had to return to normalcy. The trading had to go on, the borders had to be patrolled, the monkeys checked, and the future discussed.

“What are you going to do now?” Isatha leaned in her door on the morning after the celebrations had ended.

“I don’t know…” Rethia scratched an itching feather loose. “Ask the flock about my childhood, I guess? I can’t belive that I waited so long to ask anyone. I mean, I grew up here! I wonder why no one ever talked to me. My parents probably died?”

“I never told you? Then again, it wasn’t important. Well then…” Isatha stepped fully into the house and settled down near the window, patting the spot in front of her. Rethia obligingly sat down in front of her and Isatha started grooming her back feathers.

“You didn’t grow up in the village. We found you in the bamboo forest and took you in. You were already fully grown, yet you couldn’t fly, and only told us that you were from very far away. That you wanted to learn. At that time, you still had your memories. And you were utterly afraid of heights.” Isatha chuckled a little.

“Wha? I couldn’t fly?! But then how did I get here? That’s impossible! I… I…” she fluffed her feathers in distress, not knowing what to say. How was that possible?

“Well… there are paths for the Landbound to reach travel to the top of our plateau. Some are easier than others. And we have done our best to hide most of them,” Isatha explained proudly. Then added: “Maybe you found one of those paths. You never told us anything about that. In fact, you didn’t say much about anything. I think you just weren’t a talker. And you were among strangers. Then again, why travel somewhere to learn, if you’re not going to talk with the people there?”

Rethia was silent, uncomfortably shuffling her wings as Isatha continued grooming her back.

“Whatever your past may be, you are a part of this flock now. No matter what you decide to do, or what you manage to remember, we will be your family,” she said when she was finished, patting Rethia on the shoulder, standing up and walking to stand in front of her.

“But you should know that we don’t feed layabouts. Everyone does their work, be it as a warrior, as a monkey caretaker or even a merchant. Only exceptions are hatchlings and newly accepted adults. So you should go and find something to do soon,” added Isatha with a wink. “Come, I’ll introduce you to the respective people.”

The trip to the monkey caretakers was a short one. Their sashes were green-and-brown, either striped or checkered.

But Rethia had absolutely no interest in the confining work of a caretaker. Hopping from place to place and check up on the silk monkeys. Care for injuries, play with the newborns, help with relocation, or simply matching harpies with monkey partners. Oh, also protecting the various monkey tribes from predators.

The next stop was at the outskirts of their territory, meeting with the warriors.

They were fine harpies, well trained and alert, their monkey partners fitted with tiny leather cuirasses. These harpies wore leather harnesses, to let the monkeys clamber all over them even during aerial combat. Their sashes were green-and-red, also either striped or checkered.

That was when Rethia noticed the skyblue-green sash on Isatha. A tempting color. And although the warriors did necessary and glorious work, it wasn’t for Rethia. Sure, they ranged wider than the caretakers, but… no. Though she was very interested in the training regiments of the warriors and begged to participate when she had time.

She still hated how she had barely escaped those wyverns. She hated her own vulnerability, and wished to change that. These women were proof that harpies could fight in the air, her talons and claws were her weapons, her small size and agility a trump card against the larger and heavier raptors.

Isatha brought her to the communal hall, where the males were already preparing dinner. Rethia couldn’t help but glare accusingly at Isatha, for assuming that she wanted to stay holed up in a cave for the rest of her life!

Isatha grinned mischivously and led them to a table in the corner, occupied by a group of harpies and a frightening amount of bags. They wore green-and-yellow sashes and were apparently merchants, trading the craftsmenship of the males for items that were needed but rare to come by in this region. Or just to buy curiosities. They maintained good relations with the nearby cities and kingdoms and sometimes even acted as diplomats between warring nations. Though only to those that were close to the harpy territory.

Rethia shook her head, thanking the merchant leader for her time and the explanations. It sounded like it was an exciting option. It sounded like she should be able to range free and wide.

Except, she wouldn’t. Bound to her trade route, navigating royal courts, hashing terms with wily merchants…

These harpies did wear nice accessories. Jeweled necklaces, glinting wing clasps and ankle bracelets, to impress the Landbound. She was shown the silks they wore when meeting with trading partners.

It was all heavy stuff that hampered a quick flight and could lead to a torn off leg, if snagged by the wrong maw.