The roc was a storm made flesh. It made no sense to see it glide effortlessly forward, like watching a mountain take flight. Nothing that large could possibly fly.

The great beast ignored them, and flew. Its wings were wide enough to cover the earth with a deep shadow, dwarfing their largest war-sleds, and its talons descended to seize their prey. From the moment it arrived all hope of a good hunt and a night of feasting was gone. There was only time now to save themselves from being pulled up into endless sky.

The sound of the wind striking those wings was an endless buffeting roar. As they beat down, steadying the hunter in the air to seize the snail from the earth, that roar built and built until it broke in a raw thundercrack the sent the dust exploding up from the earth. Goblins tumbled from their sleds, and the light craft were thrown aside. Some titled over and crashed, others managed to hold themselves steady on one skid and rock back to balance-

The ones who fell watched in horror as the beast began to lift off. The world was a tumult of flying sand, a whirlwind building, spiraling and shrieking as goblins grasped blindly to find the ropes and cut them away. As the snail was lifted, burbling, its parasite-ridden mind oblivious to what was happening now, the goblins could only surrender and try to cut their loses.

Shiny clung to the face of the sled, tendrils of sand whipping against her face with such force the tiny grains cut at her thick green skin. She felt the heat of blood drip down, and crawled for the front of the sled, using one hand to shield her face so she could see ahead.

The rope creaked, kicking back and forth on the cleat. If they were lucky it would snap of its own accord. If not- a sled lost meant hours of work gone.

She found her knife by her side, and fought forward even as the tilting sled lifted off at its front side, barely touching the earth now, every jolt and rattle as they crossed a stone jarring through her body as she fought with a strength that made her muscles ache. Inch by painful inch.

Ahead, another crew managed to break their rope, or luck did it for them. The war-sled slipped past them, goblins going flying as it hit a rough patched and flipped. Another wasn’t so lucky. As this one flew past, Shiny’s own crew still being towed, still picking up speed as the roc raced parallel to the dry earth, she heard a splintering crack through the howling wind.

The whole sled splintered apart and threw of its riders, maiming and killing as it dissolved into a tumble of shrapnel that could cut through flesh like butter.

She was at the rope. Grasping it for support, she drew the knife from her belt and began to saw, the threads splitting one by one. Not long now. Not long, either way. The sled would drop free or the roc would gain the momentum to break free of its low path above the earth, lifting upwards and taking their precious work with them.

Someone behind her was shouting, and she didn’t know why. She knew what to do.

She heard the drums in the back of her mind as she forced muscles so raw they’d turned numb to work, work, work, the jagged edge of the knife eating into the rope with every thrust. Until she heard a snap-

And it was her knife, not the rope, that had given way. “FFUUCK!” She screamed, mouth filling up with sand, tossing the broken handle aside to grasp and pull. The sound and fury of the storm had broken her better mind. She was half-trying to undo the knots and half-trying to rip the rope in half.

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Neither worked, and the roc’s wings came down a final time. For a moment sand and wind drowned out the world, made her a small, helpless leaf being tossed back and forth, her grip on the rope lasting only by some god-given favor.

Then it all stopped.

“Oh…” She coughed out, as blue sky opened up around her. The sled dangled in empty air, hanging weightlessly, all the other riders gone. They’d abandoned ship. That was what they were saying, trying to tell her to give up, to let go.

The roc’s powerful wings had lifted her so far up, they were just ants below. She was too far gone to survive the drop. The rope was fraying, the sled’s weight slowly pulling the remained threads apart, making little pops as they gave up, one by one.

There was a lurch and the sled fell, its leather surface catching the wind so it almost seemed to glide down towards the earth. There was the momentary illusion that it was moving like a kite, that it would touch down on the desert like a fallen leaf.

That illusion broke when the sled crashed into the ground and exploded into a thousand pieces.

A drop of snail mucus fell from above, and the wind threw it into Shiny’s face. It was unpleasantly warm and snotty and foul-smelling. The snail gurgled, not quite comprehending how fucked it was yet.

Her fingers were numb and her nails were so full of sand they could hardly dig in and the damn wind was pulling at her. Far from hanging down from the roc’s underbelly, the rope was tilting, fluttering about. The wind bent it high above, and that bend went shooting down the length like the crack of a whip, bucking below, a wild animal trying to throw her off.

She didn’t want to die. She wanted to live, and maybe kiss Bug-Eater after making sure there wasn’t half a scorpion pasted onto his teeth. Wanted to spend another day combing the sand for things that shone and glittered.

She wanted to hear the drums- and she did.

They pulsed in her ears, calling to the rhythm of her heart. They didn’t make her calm - but her fear bled away, replaced by a wild joy.

She looked down and saw the world below like she was a god. She looked out, and saw clouds rushing towards her, as if they were fields of white flowers.

She looked up and saw a goblin riding the great roc, reigns lashed to its throat. Only a ghost, only a vision, but it was a vision someone was showing her for a reason.

“Are you my ancestor!?” She called up, desperate, starting to climb. It hurt. Every motion hurt, and she made herself fight her own body to keep moving, to keep the desperate numbness in every muscle, every fibre, from becoming a fatal weakness. The drumbeat was rising, surging through her veins. “Is this what we were!? Did we ride the winds!?”

Once. A long long time ago.

A goblin had harnessed a roc and bent the thunder of those black wings to their own will. Had ridden the storm and made it roar to the beat of a goblin’s drum.

This petty tribe, huddled in caves, fighting for scraps. This wasn’t all they could be, all she could be. She was climbing now, making real ground. Reaching upwards, higher and higher, until she’d found the end of the rope. The snail gurgled and made happy idiot noises. She grasped the harpoon, found another spear pierced into its side above, and climbed, planting her feet on the piercing lengths of bone and wood.

The ghost turned towards her. It had long braids of black hair banded by rings of bone, and ferocious eyes to match the wild grin on its face. It - she - was beautiful and heavy with muscle, and the wild ghost looked down to Shine-Catch as they reached up for greatness.

The ancient ghost reached past her hand, and laid its palm against her head.

It smiled as it pushed her.

Her hand was left outstretched as the wind plucked her away and threw her down. Past her reaching fingers she could see the sky, the shadow of the roc, all shrinking away. She knew the ground was coming closer, and closer, and closer.

She closed her eyes and tried not to hear the drums beat above the whistle of the wind.