Pag adjusted the strap of his bag, the weight of the dull powerless Heart of the Abyss a familiar pressure against his back. Maybe he could find some way to repurpose or reuse it.He glanced at the sky, noting the sun's position to keep his bearings. The sun, a fiery orb, was sinking towards the horizon, painting the sky in vibrant hues of orange and purple. Twilight was approaching, and he needed to reach Willow Creek before nightfall.
The Whisperwood, with its soft, yielding earth, was behind him. Now, his talons clicked against a carpet of short, springy grass. Patches of wildflowers dotted the landscape, releasing a sweet fragrance as he disturbed them. The air was crisp and clean, a welcome change from the humid scent of decay that clung to the Whisperwood. The fragrance of wildflowers mingled with the earthy aroma of tilled soil.
He crested a small rise, and the village of Willow Creek came into view. Nestled in a valley, surrounded by rolling hills of golden wheat and pale green oats, it was a haven of peace and tranquility. Thin trails of smoke curled from the chimneys of the pueblo-style cottages, built into the cliff walls that lined the valley. He could hear the murmur of conversation and the melodic calls of the Avariun, carried on the gentle breeze.
A small, cobblestone bridge arched over a babbling brook that wound its way through the village. Its waters sparkled in the fading sunlight, and the gentle, rhythmic melody of the water beckoned him closer.
Pag quickened his pace, his heart lifting with anticipation. The journey through the Whisperwood had been long and arduous, a digital wilderness that had tested him at every turn. But now, as he approached Willow Creek, a wave of relief washed over him. This was a place where he could rest, regroup, and perhaps find answers to the questions that had been plaguing him.
He reached the outskirts of the village. Instead of a weathered wooden sign, there was a carefully sculpted stone marker, etched with the intricate patterns of the bipedal avian like people as they welcomed travelers to Willow Creek. Hopefully this town was a haven for weary souls. Pag’s talons clicked against the smooth flagstones of the path that led towards the heart of the village.
Avariun? They must be one of the new species that was on this continent. As he drew closer, he saw the Avariun, tall and lithe, their bodies covered in feathers, their beaks and talons adorned with beads and metal bands. Children, their downy feathers ruffled by the breeze, chased each other through the narrow lanes, their melodic calls echoing off the stone walls of the cottages. A group of Avariun, their heads adorned with brightly colored feathers, stood outside a small shop built into the cliff face. Their conversation, punctuated by gestures and trills, was a melody in itself.
Pag stepped off the bridge, his talons clicking against the smooth flagstones. He decided to follow the path that led alongside the babbling brook. The sound of the water, a gentle, rhythmic melody, was soothing, washing away the tension and weariness of his journey. As he walked, he observed the Avariun, admiring their graceful movements, their vibrant plumage, the intricate patterns of their beadwork and metal adornments. They were a people in harmony with their environment, their lives woven into the fabric of the Whisperwood.
Pag was beginning to understand why Textos believed that humans possessed a spark of magic. The Avariun, with their deep connection to nature, seemed to embody that spark. Their lives were a testament to the delicate balance between order and chaos, between the natural world and the digital realm that had become their reality.
As he approached the center of the village, Pag noticed a large, open-air structure built into the cliff face. It was circular, with a high, vaulted ceiling supported by massive wooden beams. A fire burned in a pit in the center of the structure, casting flickering shadows that danced across the walls. Avariun of all ages gathered around the fire, some engaged in conversation, others sharing stories, still others simply enjoying the warmth and the company. Pag felt a pull towards the gathering place, a longing to connect with these people, to learn more about their culture, their beliefs, their way of life. He had a message to deliver, a friend to save, a world to protect. But perhaps, he thought, he could find answers, guidance, even allies, among the Avariun of Willow Creek.
He approached the gathering place cautiously, aware that he was an outsider, a traveler from a different world. He paused at the edge of the circle, his gaze sweeping over the faces of the Avariun, searching for a sign of welcome, a gesture of invitation. The Avariun, sensing his presence, turned their heads, their bright eyes regarding him with curiosity. A hush fell over the gathering as they assessed him, their expressions unreadable.
A group of children, their plumage a vibrant mix of blues, greens, and golds, stopped their game of tag to stare at him with wide, curious eyes. Pag smiled, offering a small wave, surprised by the warmth that bloomed in his chest. They giggled and whispered amongst themselves, their gazes darting between Pag and each other, their curiosity battling with shyness.
One of the braver children, a young girl with feathers the color of a summer sky, tilted her head and chirped a question in a language Pag didn’t understand. Her eyes, bright and inquisitive, held no fear, only a childlike wonder that disarmed Pag completely.
"Sorry," Pag replied, shaking his head with a rueful chuckle. "I don't speak... uh... Avian?" He gestured vaguely, hoping to convey his lack of comprehension. "I’m still learning the languages here."
"You look different," another child piped up, his plumage a striking combination of emerald and gold. "Are you from far away?"
Stolen novel; please report.
"Very far," Pag agreed, nodding. "I was on a ship that ran into some trouble. I ended up overboard and washed ashore near a big forest. The Whisperwood, I think they call it." He paused, debating how much to reveal, then decided honesty was the best policy. "I'm trying to reach the eastern coast, to find a ship that can take me back home."
The children exchanged excited glances. "The Whisperwood?" the girl with the sky-blue feathers exclaimed, her eyes widening. "That's a dangerous place! Did you see any gremlins? Or sprites? Or maybe even…" she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "a dragon?"
Pag laughed, the sound echoing through the peaceful village, chasing away the lingering shadows of his journey. "I saw a few things," he admitted, a shiver running down his spine as he recalled the monstrous creature he had battled on his way here. "But I’m alright. I made it out." He glanced at the setting sun, a reminder of his dwindling time. "Do you know where I can find a place to stay for the night? I'd like to reach the port before nightfall, if possible."
The children, their faces a mix of awe and concern, looked at each other, their excited chatter dying down. "Two weeks?" the girl with sky-blue feathers repeated, her voice small. "But that's... That's a very long way!"
The boy with emerald and gold plumage nodded in agreement. "The port is on the other side of the Sunstone Mountains," he explained, his tone serious. "It takes a long time to get there, even on the fastest windrunners."
"Windrunners?" Pag echoed, tilting his head. He imagined some kind of swift, avian mount, perhaps similar to the leprin he had ridden in Draggor.
"They're special birds, trained to carry riders," the girl explained, her eyes shining with pride. "They're very strong and fast! But even they can't fly over the Sunstone Mountains. The updrafts are too dangerous."
Pag sighed, running a hand through his hair. This was not what he wanted to hear. He had hoped to find a ship quickly and be on his way. He needed to return to Draggor, needed to find a way to contact Frank and the others, needed to figure out what to do with the Heart of the Abyss. But a two-week journey? That would delay everything.
"Is there anywhere I can stay in the meantime?" he asked, hoping for a glimmer of good news. "A tavern, perhaps? Or an inn?"
"Mistfeather Tavern is just down the path," the emerald and gold boy offered, pointing with a wing. "They have the best honey cakes in Sveoltr!"
Pag's stomach rumbled, a reminder that he hadn't eaten since before the kraken attack. "Honey cakes sound amazing," he admitted, forcing a smile. "But…" He hesitated, a wave of embarrassment washing over him. "I don't have any money on me. I lost everything when I... when I fell overboard."
The children's expressions softened, their earlier excitement replaced by a mixture of sympathy and concern. They looked at each other, their heads bobbing in silent conversation, their avian features making the gestures seem particularly bird-like.
"Maybe Elder Elara can help," the sky-blue girl suggested, her voice hopeful. "She's the keeper of the Willowwood Grove. She's very wise and kind. I'm sure she'll find a way."
The emerald and gold boy nodded enthusiastically. "Elder Elara knows everything!" he chirped. "She can talk to the trees, and she can heal any wound. She even helped my brother when he broke his wing!"
The children, their initial shyness forgotten, surrounded Pag, their chatter a comforting cacophony as they led him down the path. "Come on," the sky-blue girl urged, taking Pag's hand in hers. Her touch was surprisingly strong for such a small creature. "We'll take you to Elder Elara. She'll know what to do."
As they walked, the children peppered Pag with questions about his journey, his homeland, the strange creatures he had encountered. Pag, charmed by their innocent curiosity, did his best to answer, simplifying his explanations, using gestures and pantomime when words failed him. He spoke of the vast ocean, the towering ships, the bustling port city of Draggor, painting a picture of a world so different from their own, their eyes widening with wonder and amazement. He even shared stories of the hobgoblins and the shades, the Patala warriors and the kraken, carefully omitting the more frightening details, focusing on the excitement and adventure of his encounters.
He found himself warming to these avian people, their kindness and hospitality a welcome balm to the wounds of his journey. They were so different from the humans he knew, yet their curiosity, their compassion, their sense of community, resonated with a deep chord within him. Perhaps, he thought, there was hope for this world after all. Perhaps, amidst the chaos and the darkness, there was still room for kindness, for understanding, for connection.
As they reached the edge of the village, the children pointed towards a grove of willow trees, their branches swaying gently in the breeze, their leaves shimmering with an ethereal, silver light. "That's the Willowwood Grove," the sky-blue girl explained, her voice hushed with reverence. "Elder Elara lives there. But we can't go any further. It's a sacred place."
Pag nodded, understanding. He thanked the children for their help, promising to visit them again once he had found a way to reach the eastern coast. He watched as they skipped away, their laughter echoing through the village, their vibrant plumage a splash of color against the fading light. Then, he turned towards the Willowwood Grove, his heart pounding with a mixture of hope and apprehension. He had a feeling that this meeting with Elder Elara would be more than just a request for shelter. It might be a turning point in his journey, a chance to find answers, to forge alliances, to shape his destiny. He took a deep breath, the air filled with the sweet scent of willow blossoms, and stepped into the grove, ready to face whatever awaited him.