I get to the edge, move to pull myself up, fail. Fall back into the water in a huff of pain. Try again.

Three more tries, then I make it, by then I do notice more people staring. Looks a mix between worry, confusion, and–

Ignore them. It’s all nonsense. Focus on–

Someone lands behind me, is kneeling. “I’m so sorry!”

The cool water around my ankle helps, but the pain is still–

“It’s fine.” I hiss, don’t even look back.

My side starts to throb, I glance down to see a nasty purple splotch slowly rising to the surface. I reach down to gently feel the spot. No broken ribs, but–

“Alright. Um...” They move up to my side. I see a mix of purple and green feathers folding up close against skin. “Eh… Are you um… I didn’t hit your jaw or throat, right? You can still sing?”

I grind my teeth. Nope. But it doesn’t matter.

“You didn’t,” I force my voice to remain steady. “I’ll be alright.”

They flounder, back up a few feet. But I still hear them. Still feel plenty of eyes on me. Waiting… waiting… waiting… All Fae can heal themselves back to near perfect within a few days. Minor injuries like this should be easy. To become a Fae you have to have shaped the body you wear. You have the words to knit the parts together. But… without Thendra, I am less than Fae.

Eventually I spot the little trickle of blood pooling around my feet, and I look down to see that half the toes are twisted, and the ankle turning purple and swelling. Can’t just sit here, need to leave. But…

“Dreamer’s Tits.” I curse, and push myself to rise.

I quickly find that pulling weight on the wounded leg is… well horrible. Barely possible, and incredibly painful. But… What choice do I have? Even keeping my head down to avoid meeting anyone’s gaze, I spot the feathered Fae’s feet right away, and move past them. Blood dribbles with every step.

“Um…” Feathered person tries to follow. “Do… do you need help or something? Why aren't you just singing–”

“No.” I growl, very low. And keep walking. They don’t follow after that. I make my slow way up the pathways, refusing to stop to alleviate the pain. Knowing if I do I might try something stupid… like trying to heal myself through the Lament.

But eventually I do make it back up to her. She watches me approach, face… an odd mixture of emotions. Pain, regret… some doubt as to–

I stop just a few feet from her. “Can we please go home?” I whisper through pain and embarrassment. Dripping wet with one side of my body still throbbing.

“Sit here and let me–” She begins, holding my tunic out for me.

I don’t answer, just take the tunic and begin to walk. She catches up easily as I try to twist and get the thing over my head without stretching myself out too much.

“You're going to mangle that foot worse.”

“I’d rather deal with that than be gawked at like I’m some…” I grind my teeth.

Songless Human.

The walk home is quiet pain. By the time we arrive my foot has grown a few more inches of purple swelling, and it’s getting hard to breathe.

Once I touch the first blade of grass I just… stop. Turn and fall back onto the grove.

My mother doesn’t panic, doesn’t poke or prod, she just settles down by my feet and begins to sing. First to control the swelling, then to reduce the worst of the pain, then–

I tune it out as I glare up at the evening sky. Eventually her song fades, and we’re left in silence.

“I’m going to start dinner.” She declares and stands. “Come help when you can.”

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I sigh and immediately rise to help. “Thank you.”

My foot looks perfect, save the still slight purple hue. Side bruises are… decent.

“Mhm.” She’s already gathered up our baskets and is moving.

Once again, proving why she is wonderful.

Later that same night, woken amidst desire and annoyance and pain, I decide to follow her advice. So I take up a tunic, snatch up a light snack and a small basket to carry it in, and leave my mother’s grove.

There are many here who prefer the night, but far fewer than those that prefer the day. So as I return to the lake, I’m happy to see barely a dozen Fae. A small enough number to enjoy the water without threat of incident or intrusion.

So I drop my basket and tunic off, and slide myself down into the cool water.

My… hope was that the shock of the cool water would chill my warm thoughts. Ease my desires and give me some peace. It works for a bit as I swim through the dimly lit waters. Letting me admire the little bubbling… things… that exude light for the nighttime swimmers. But then I come up for air and prop my shoulders up on an outcropping of roots, and the memories of my first time with Thendra bubbles up and envelopes me.

I reach down, press fingers against my slit. Begin to… to slide them up and down and around and… it’s not enough. So I curl my talons and let them rake at my second lips and pinch at my clit and rub it harder. Trying… trying so hard to imagine it’s her hand. Her fingers. I even adjust and sink a few talons into my shoulder, then claw down to a breast and…

I let out an annoyed huff after a few moments of this. It’s not enough. I want her so bad it hurts. I feel so… just… Dreamer’s Tits!!!

Amidst my fading annoyed horny brain rot a fresh memory of when Usete left winds between my thoughts. And the song he used to–

I jerk my head up and nearly scramble out of the water to look about. “What am I even still doing here?”

I want to be alone for this, but…

I look up, and decide to try this stupid idea from the highest branch. Once there, tunic pulled about my still wet body, I sit down and close my eyes. Focus on the song Usete had sung so clearly that day. Deep breaths. Focus on the melody, the emotion, the feel of it. This… this is a more complex phrasing, more intricate and subtle a concept than I have ever sung. The closest was my own original changing, and that was done slowly and with supervision.

I even picture the Reavers in my forest, how they had done it. Begin to hum lightly, no magic yet, just… trying to get a feel for the rhythm.

Deeeep breaths, draw up the Amwella, fight through the sting…

“May I sing?” I whisper through the song and pain.

I twist my hand out like Usete did and–

There is a jolt of pain, unlike anything I’d ever felt before. Like someone bending a joint in the wrong direction… but with only the muscles. I cry out and drop the song, glance up to see a settling flash of purple light fade.

“May I sing.” I growl, then try again.

Better this time, but the pain is worse as it fails. Amwella is getting bruised and–

“Dreamer’s Tits!!!” I curse.

Again, but it's worse this time, the pain is starting to make my arm go numb. I stand, glare at the purple sliver as it fades from view.

“Let me sing!” I nearly shout, reach out, the delicacy of my sibling’s movements gone, and tear at reality with song and talon like a Reaver. For a second I see it, feel the spiced winds and catch a glimpse of the moonlit sands when–

A crack, an angry pop, and I feel a few of my fingers snap back from the almost rift.

I ignore the pain and don’t drop the song, try to… to shove at the edges. Will the pathways between to split and tear open for me. I almost have it, but… something pushes back. Like trying to hold a bubble underwater as it constantly is trying to wriggle free. But if the bubble was a glob of pure pain that tears and screams and–

The curse bites deeper and I lose focus, then a broken finger is twisted farther out of place. The rift dies silently, and I realize it was me who was screaming as I clutch at my mangled hand. I kneel, gasping at pain and despair and so so much rage.

LET. ME. SI–

A creak, the wood beneath me shudders, and I jerk up to see a Fae woman perched on the end of the branch, crouched and watching me. She’s not naked like the other swimmers, wears a tunic of warm dark maroons and greens that leave messy sun-kissed skin bare. Little feathers fold down from elbows as a silent tune fades from her lips. Orange hair pulled into a loose braided mess frames a dirty face and a crooked smile.

Golden amber eyes shimmer with… amusement? Delight?

“Practicing a riftwalking song?” She stands, right fingers twiddling at the hilt of some little… sheathed sword? While the other pulls at the strap of some kind of medium sized backpack.

I rise, still clutching at the wrist of my mangled hand.

“That's really impressive, honestly!” She grins when I don’t respond. “Took me years to even muster up the courage to try it, and I broke quite a bit more than a few fingers before I got as close as you just did.”

“I…” That sputters and pops a hole in the anger pot I’m trying to boil. “Thanks?”

Her smile turns to a grimace as she looks down to my mangled hand, “Really tore up that hand though. I can sing the bones and skin back if you’d like? Get it healing?”

“No I–” I look away. Brow creasing. I should know how to heal myself. She could offer a mild harmony but… that wasn’t the offer.

I jerk my eyes back up, find her head tilting to one side, eyes unmoving. Fingers still touch that weapon in a… almost playful way. Not threatening but… confident. Like an old habit she doesn’t want to shake.

I take a step back.

“You’re…” I whisper, a bit of panic making my voice unsteady. “Why’re you here? Who are you?”

“What?” She turns those golden eyes back up to mine, “I can’t offer help to some pretty Fae who I watched mangle her hand during a botched song?”

I would blush if I wasn’t afraid and angry and still in a good amount of pain. So my glare is good.

She sighs, rolls her eyes. “Usete said you’d–”

I take another step back at my siblings' name. Reach for my horrid songs while keeping a bit of Amwella within easy reach. It’s still bruised and small from the riftwalking attempts. I’ll won’t have enough for more than one good–

“So this was the plan all along then?” I hiss, “Just... keep an eye on me? Ambush me if I try to leave? Let me hurt myself enough to–”

“Woah woah woah!” She raises both hands, palms up, “Not at all! I just got here. Was asked to come find you and see what kind of help you needed.”

I don’t drop the horrid words, but do pause. “You’re… one of the elders?”

She snorts, “Barely. All the older ones are super busy. I’m here because a friend asked me to check in and get things moving for you.”

“But… Why now? In the dead of night?” A jolt of pain nurtures my suspicion.

A sigh. “Like I said, I just got back. Happened to hear your riftsong cracking and got curious. Was really surprised to see who it was though…”

“But… how did you know I was… like… the right person?”

She smirks, eyes me up and down, raises an eyebrow. “You’re… a very unique looking Fae.”

I look down, notice blood dripping from a few torn talons at the tips of my fingers.

“Fine.” I drop the words, and try to calm myself.

“Yeah?” She takes a careful step forward. “I know a place nearby we can go, I can sing your hands a bit better and we can talk?”

I nod.

“Lyra, right? I’m Awnya.”