Dinner time

The harpies were back from flying the loop when he reached the great fey-tree. Gleeful laughter and singing echoed across the waters as they crossed. Runt saw harpies, covered in pollen, waiting patiently by the hollows to be groomed. Most, though, were already cleaned. They whooped and flew and chased each other through the canopy.

Not for the first time, Runt and Stripes collapsed at the foot of the tree upon reaching dry land. He watched Stripes jealously as the dog swiftly fell asleep.

“No time for that, now,” Runt thought. He placed the bundle of wolf skins further up the bank and proceeded to climb.

The last of the harpies groomed themselves as Runt entered the hollow. As usual, the teacher stood down by the cauldron. Tonight, though, the teacher was joined by many others. Harpies made a near complete circle around the shallow bowl. As one they turned when Runt squeezed inside. He felt the weight of many eyes resting on him.

“Welcome back, Wolf-ghost.” The teacher murmured, “I hear you have reclaimed many skins today. The harpy friends of these wolves will be sad but grateful.”

“How did you hear that, I wonder?” Runt shot back, “I’ve only just got here. Were you spying on me, again? Was it you spying on me again, Patch?” He asked the little harpy who sat, with the others, around the edge of the cauldron.

Patch’s mouth opened wide but no words came out. Instead, the teacher spoke.

“This young harpy flew the entire loop tonight and we are very proud of them. The pollen is plentiful. Our friends too old to fly the loop shall eat and their tummy eggs will grow.”

“Not everyone was flying the loop, though, were they? I saw one returning from a fey-tree. They were watching –“

“I know what the harpy was watching. I told them to wait there. And, yes, they saw a Wolf-ghost with his wolf-dog carrying wolf skins. What of it?”

“I want to know about the gorgons!” Runt yelled. “There are statues of them around all the fey-trees, apart from this one, and I can’t figure out why. They’re destroying fey-trees and you don’t seem to be stopping them, just watching.”

“Stop them?” the teacher asked, with eyebrows raised. “Would you stop them for us? Look at me. This is what happened the last time I tried to speak to a gorgon, Wolf-ghost.”

The teacher raised its arms high and wide. Runt saw it immediately and wondered how he missed it before. The skin of the harpy’s right wing was completely torn.

“The gorgon’s language is violence, Wolf-ghost. We watch them and wonder. We see the mother trees disappearing into their dark cave and mourn. The end is coming for harpies, Wolf-ghost. You have seen it for yourself. When the mother trees that taste the sunset are gone, we will starve and perish. But tonight, we eat. Harpies, let us begin.”

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At this the teacher waved a hand for Runt to be silent. Each of the harpies around the bowl dipped a small wooden ladle into the pollen and began to stir. They sang as they worked but this song was not one of the silly tunes the harpies sang as they played outside. There were no words, only a melody, and its rhythm was thoughtful, slow, and sombre.

The harpies, Runt realised, stirred the pollen in time to the song. Each creature moved their ladle from right to left in unison with the others. The song gradually picked up pace. The contents of the cauldron began to swirl with the circular motion until it formed a whirlpool.

Like the previous morning, Runt found himself mesmerised by the patterns in the pollen. but this time it was different. As the whirlpool continued to swirl the colours banded together into distinct stripes, looking something like a lollypop.

“It’s a rainbow!” Runt exhaled and, indeed, there were obvious similarities. The colours grouped from brilliant blues in the middle, through to greens, then yellows, oranges, and finally reds on the outer edge. The singers grew more insistent, now, and they stirred even faster. The colours grew even more defined and glowed brighter. A thin band of darkness, though, appeared on the very edge of the cauldron, and a circle of clear pollen now appeared in the very middle.

The singing, and stirring, both stopped abruptly but the colours continued to rotate around the cauldron. A new kind of work commenced. Some of the harpies reached under the cauldron for the empty seed pods stored there. Other harpies holding wooden ladles reached into the bands of colour and scooped up small amounts of the pollen.

Some scooped orange, others green, others blue, but regardless of the colour, each ladle of pollen was carefully tipped into a seed pod. Runt watched as one harpy used a ladle with an extra-long handle to reach right into the centre. This clear pollen was placed with extreme caution into a seed pod and then immediately corked shut. The same process occurred with the dark pollen on the outer edge. These seed pods were carried very gingerly to the teacher who placed them on a shelf beneath the cauldron.

The other seed pods, with coloured pollen, were carried to plump looking harpies who sat on ledges around the inside of the chamber. Runt watched as Patch carried a pod of blue pollen to a harpy on a nearby ledge. They were an older harpy, he decided. The fur around their eyes, and over their chin, was grey, and they were much fatter than the others. This plump harpy thanked Patch, tipped the contents into its mouth, and then closed its eyes in satisfaction.

Patch stayed by the old harpy and stared at its round belly in fascination. Runt stifled a gasp as he saw the harpy’s stomach glow a brilliant blue within moments of drinking the pollen. The same thing occurred with every one of the older harpies perched on ledges up and around the chamber until the entire hollow resembled the inner-city at night. All colours of the rainbow were represented in the glowing furry bellies of these harpies. Runt turned back to Patch and saw the young harpy stroking the old harpy’s round stomach and sang a quiet song.

Many harpies began singing, now. The tune was soothing and slow. Runt felt his aches and pains from a long day of travel slowly lift. Curious, he crept closer to Patch and saw, in amazement, that the skin of the old harpy’s belly was stretched to the point of being translucent. Within, hundreds of tiny globular spheres glowed with an eery blue light.

“Tummy eggs, Runt,” Patch whispered, “aren’t they wonderful? This old harpy is next. Soon there will be more harpy grubs glowing in the trunk of the mother tree.”

Runt nodded as he yawned. Then, as they watched, the eggs did something miraculous. The glowing blue orbs flashed white for a second, then went dark, then every one of the eggs split into two smaller eggs. Now their colour throbbed from a dull blue to a brilliant bright blue and back again in a cycle. Patch clapped quietly.

“More grubbies, more and more and more!” The little harpy whispered excitedly.

Runt yawned again. He had never heard a lullaby before, but it was nearly impossible to stay awake when listening to this one. He crawled back out of the hollow, down the trunk, and curled up with his dog. They slept late into the next morning.