I flew for some time, soaring through the morning sky and occasionally dropping below the clouds to get a fix on my position and ensure I was on the right track to my first destination: Owens Island.

If you look at a map, It’s the large island floating above the northern and southern continents of Ellyntide. It’s almost large enough to be a continent in its own right, but because it floats on a higher wind stream than all the continents do, it gets classified as an island. Geographic pedantry aside, it’s an important link between the northern and southern reaches of Ellyntide. All airship traffic tends to travel the island so pilots can keep their ships above land.

I’ll be no different, today. I’m not quite ready yet to fly above the vast, open sky that separates the floating continents.

I thought about stopping at some smaller islands along the way but decided to experiment with just how much endurance I really have for flying long distances. The trip to the Northern Continent is going to have a few big stretches where there’s nothing but clear sky below me, all the way down to the true surface of the moon. If I drop into one of the powerful gales just below the continents… I’m finished. I’ll never make it back up.

So, in that regard, I’m pleased I’ve made it to Owens Island without stopping. In fact, I think I could go on for quite a bit longer! I’m not sure if I was able to make it here so easily because I could take advantage of the low cloud base, soaring through the warm thermal currents that exist above it. But I’d like to believe it’s because long-distance flying just comes naturally to Lithans. The distance gap between the Northern Continent and the northernmost island of Sarlain, Samsivik, is considerable: By some estimates, at least 90 kilometers! If Lithans weren’t good at long-distance flying, then there’s no way they could make that trip as often as they do.

I dive through the placid cloud base one last time, feeling cool drops of moisture passing over my feathers. When I reappear, I’m above a mountain somewhere along the southwestern flank of Owen’s Island. This is the most remote part of the island, with no settlements around for miles. The landscape here is temperate deciduous forest; lots of oaks, maples, and the occasional odd clearing that would make a good spot for someone as big as me to land and take a quick rest. With any luck, I’ll be able to sniff out some carrion and quell my churning stomach.

I fly around the mountain and surrounding valley, looking for a suitable spot to descend. I do so freely, without the anxiousness I had flying in the mountains outside Rhl. Most people live in the northeastern quadrant of the island where the aptly named city Owens Island is located. As a result, airship traffic down here is minimal to non-existent. Pilots only pass through if they need to change course because of bad weather.

EREEECH!

I screech solely to hear my voice and am delighted by the sound it makes reverberating across the sides of the valley. It bounces off all corners and returns to me at different times, creating a pleasing echo effect. I’m certain I just sent all the prey in the area scrambling to their caves and crevices, but it’s not like I had a shot at catching them in the first place. Might as well have some fun.

I spot a river dropping down the side of a mountain and spilling into the valley below. Next to one of the bends in the river is a small meadow with only a few trees near the shore. It seems like as good a place as any to stop, so I lower myself out of the sky, circling down until I can get low enough to drop in for a landing.

When I’m just above the tops of the trees I flap my wings hard, lowering myself out of the sky. As I get closer, something strikes me as unusual about the field below me. But recalling what happened the last time I got distracted by details in the landscape while landing causes me to push the thought aside. Talons touch the tips of the grass and make contact with the ground below.

I land.

Then, I sink.

A dark liquid rises around my ankles, covering them in mud.

It seems my aerial assessment of this area being a nice, dry meadow was wrong. It is, in fact, a swamp.

I free one of my front talons from the watery muck and a strong whiff of noxious, decaying plant material is released. It’s not as bad as the bear I smelled back in the Weald yesterday, but it’s not far off.

Yuck! How can dead plants smell this bad? I’ve never had a chance to visit a swamp before, and this isn’t leaving a good first impression on me. Not only does it smell bad, but my talons are covered in a viscus, black mud that clings to my feathers. I ruffle to try and shake it off, but it simply splashes more of the foul-smelling ooze onto the rest of my body.

This is pretty unpleasant and not how I wanted my first trip to Owens Island to start off. But I guess I should try not to worry about it, right?

I’m a feral, now. Until I can turn back to normal, I won’t have the luxury of a roof over my head to keep me clean and dry. Or a nice, hot shower after a long day getting dirty in the garden. I have to do whatever is necessary to survive, and that means letting go of my old expectations of cleanliness. I’ll just have to get used to feeling gross and dirty.

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I decide to make my way to the nearby river. Not because I’m especially itching to get myself cleaned off — thought that would be nice right now — but because my senses are so overwhelmed by the smells of the swamp that I can’t smell the forest around me. This stuff is seriously overpowering, even to my enhanced nose.

Mental Note: Avoid swamps.

Unable to locate by smell, I follow the sounds of rushing water over the damp ground, splashing more of the noxious mud onto myself as I walk. Eventually, the swamp gives way to tall, dry grass and after passing a row of trees I find myself at the top of an escarpment overlooking the river.

The river channel is wide with large flat areas where sand and gravel built-up, probably during the spring thaw when the river ran high. This late in the season though, it’s only carving a small channel in the middle of the clearing and doesn’t look particularly deep. A breeze blows down the valley, bringing with it the smells of fish and dried maple leaves.

I hop down the escarpment and trundle across a rocky sandbank and over to the riverbed. Sticking muddy talons in the water, I expect to be shocked by an icy cold current. But the water is warm to my feathers, not unlike bath water. After my flight from the mountains, this would be a nice place to stop and relax for a few minutes.

I step into the river and feel the current flow through my talons, cleansing them of the swamp mud. I trot to the center of the channel and lower myself in, watching the water rise to the bottom of my chest. It flows in and around my body, gently massaging my feathers. I ruffle, close my eyes, and exhale.

Asha, in the middle of a river channel, puffs herself into a ball of fluff with a content expression. [https://www.sarlain.net/img/m2/ch22-1.png]

Yeah, this is pretty nice right now!

This is the first time I’ve allowed myself to relax a little ever since… everything happened to me. It makes me a bit guilty, taking a break. I need to be doing everything in my power to let my family know I’m safe. But surely I’m allowed a little bit of time to relax and enjoy myself, right?

Another breeze blows down the river, bringing more fresh scents. A grove of alder trees. A group of deer, no more than 3 of them, moving away from me. Flowering plants whose scents I’m unfamiliar with.

My curiosity is piqued. I wonder what those plants are? I can take an educated guess based on my knowledge of the area, but I won’t know for certain unless I go look. I never did get a chance to explore what grew on the mountain top I just flew from, would it really be that bad if I took some time to go exploring and see what grows here?

…

I wonder what’s happening back home?

I push the unpleasant thought aside. It can wait.

…

Boop!

Something bumps into my chest feathers, interrupting my peaceful zone-out. I open my eyes and peer down to see a fish swimming in front of me, confused about the fluffy object it’s just bumped into. Aw, hello little fishy!

…Wait a minute.

Unbidden, predator instincts spring into action. The image of the fish transforms from a friendly companion, swimming peacefully in nature to a victim. A victim of my next snack! I lunge towards the fish, snapping my jaws to grab it out of the river. But all I get is a mouthful of water as it deftly swims back upstream.

Fwegh! I was so close to finally getting something to eat today! Frustrated, I growl a little under my breath.

I came pretty close to snatching the fish out of the water, or at least I thought I did, so I decided to wait a while and see if another was senseless enough to come floating into me. Sure enough one did, but again I was too slow with my jaws to make the kill. I tried in vain for some time, but on each subsequent attempt, the fish was always just a little ahead of me.

Just like the doe, I tried to catch yesterday, the prey I go after is always a little bit quicker than I am. There’s gotta be some tactic, some trick, to catching them. There just has to be! But without any mentors to learn from, it’s hopeless.

…And that’s why I’ve given up on the river to head to a meadow downstream!

Hopping up another erosion-carved escarpment, I turn past a stunted oak and enter a small meadow next to the river. Compared to the Weald yesterday, the tawny grass here is far shorter, barely growing over the claws of my talons. Trees dot the meadow with patches of brambles, and I spot a path bisecting the field where the grass is trampled — the scents are stale, but deer sometimes pass through here.

I decided to cheer myself up a little from another failed hunt by looking for the flowers I smelled earlier. Doing a little botany fieldwork won’t do anything to silence my stomach, but it should keep me distracted from it for a little while. Maybe I’ll get lucky and locate some carrion while I’m here in the field.

It’s not all bad news, though. While I was trotting up the river I managed to find some dead fish that washed up near the shore. They were… not pleasant. As quick as it was to get them down, I still gagged a little in the process! Unsurprisingly, there seems to be a limit on just how long prey can lay dead before it stops being appetizing to me.

The fish wasn’t much nourishment, but they should give me the energy to keep flying north through Ellyntide tonight.

Looking out over the meadow, I take in the scents and locate the smells from the river; they’re somewhere in the middle of the grass where a group of 3 maples grew. It’s unusual for flowers here to still be in bloom this late in the season, so I’m quite curious about what they could be.

I make my way across as a beam of sunlight pokes through the clouds, warming my feathers. Turning skyward I see blue sky poking through a hole in the clouds, fondly reminding me of the incredible sunrise I saw this morning. With my nose turned up, a foreign piece of plant particulate invades my nostrils, tickling my sinuses. Instinctively I pull my neck back down and sneeze a fierce, draconic sneeze.

KRACHOO!!

Just like yesterday when I screamed at the birds, I feel the moon tremble beneath me. But unlike yesterday, something warm flashes on the tip of my muzzle.

…Huh? Something warm?

I open my eyes and peer down to see formerly golden tips of grass in front of my talons turned black, smoldering smoke into the air. The taste of ashes forms in my mouth.

Ashes…? Did I just… cough up some fire?

…

I can BREATHE FIRE?!