Life was so boring.Yet dying sounded boring too.

  Aymanah had always been a strange child. Raised by their older sister almost exclusively, since their parents had died when they were young- they never asked why, Aytalh never told why. Always staring at things, always observing, indulging in peculiar hobbies like learning more of the old trade tongue from Umanah despite its ck of general use.

  Never a warrior. Too scrawny for that. Never much of a sky-farmer either. Never had a green thumb, and remembering all the peaks where the farming plots were was tiresome. Never a leader, too quiet for that too. The most potential they had was deemed to be with Umanah, so they’d been left alone by those around them.

  Even their sister.

  And then one day the patrols returned- Aytalh had always lectured on how keeping the mountain safe was the duty of *every* harpy, even non-warriors like herself- without Aytalh. In fact, the patrol as a whole never returned. It took another patrol finding Aymanah’s sughtered one for the harpies to understand what had happened.

  Many screamed for vengeance for their friends, their kin, their people.Aymanah just sat at home, truly alone for the first time in their life. And it was as boring as always. Of course they were sad. While their bond with their sister- the sister that had raised them- was light and fraught, they still missed her. But the sorrow did not overtake them. Maybe their mood was already too dour.

  And then that girl came, the one embraced by death. And in just a few days time, she’d changed so many things- and so little. It was foolish to think that one pair of travelers leaving the mountain with the Warleader’s blessing would suddenly change their culture. But Aymanah could still sense the waves it made in their little society. Other harpies chittered about it, news would spread to the other tribes across the mountain…

  …

  And they weren’t bored.And they felt like they could finally do something that’d excite them. So, as the basket nded and Homer and Maia climbed out, Aymanah nded next to them and stretched their whole body.Like they’d always been a part of the group.

  The first few days were awkward. Aymanah was used to flight based travel, so they kept flying ahead and then circling back because Maia and Homer just couldn’t keep up with their pace. Food wasn’t an issue, but they still often returned with something helpful; be it freshly caught birds from the skies (Homer found Harpies eating birds to be oddly morbid) or edible bark they’d scratched off of certain trees growing on the mountainside.

  Sleeping was awkward too. Harpies were no stranger to beds, with some preferring them- while others used perches. They don’t remember where the habit originated from… Umanah held some history lesson about it that they’ve already forgotten, but if they recall correctly, it’s to promote the habit of being able to spring to flight at a moment’s notice.

  Aymanah just finds it more rexing to sleep ‘sitting’, so they often have to find some tree nearby to perch when Homer and Maia go to sleep… Which is a problem when Homer and Maia often try to find some cave or other distant hovel to sleep in. Even without the threat of harpies, they want to avoid the bandits prowling these lower strata of the mountains. One morning Aymanah woke up and flew off thinking Homer and Maia went ahead and they were separated for the whole day.

  After that episode they’d agreed to start have Aymanah sleeping on the ground with the rest of them, which was *highly* unpleasant. Eventually Homer relented and let them perch on top of him, since his shoulderpad was so wide and rough that they could carefully settle onto it. Homer rarely if ever rolled around in their sleep either, so-

  Of course the first night they tried this Homer did roll in their sleep, squishing Aymanah under them with such a loud squawk that it woke up all the animals in the vicinity too.

  It’s funny in retrospect, sure, but from them on Aymanah just got used to sleeping in the dust. That was new too, and it wasn’t boring… Even if their eyebags from ck of sleep *were* notably bombastic for about a week.

  This is all to say that the journey itself was uneventful. With the other tribes warned of these travelers, they wouldn’t be harried by harpies anymore; and the mountain’s lower slope was pleasant to travel. Snow slowly melted away, and the red and craggy stone of the valley leading up to it became a regur sight once more.

  It gave them time to learn about their new companions. They knew of Maia’s quest and of her strange retion to Death… But they did not know that before this, she was a total hermit living alone in some strange shack half-underground. Nor did they know that her parents had died such a long time ago. That’s something they could rete to.

  “And you’re an only child?” They had asked once, while seated over the fire.

  “I am. My mother said that one ought to never be too greedy…”

  “From what you told of your god of Life, he has so many children he could popute the world.”

  “He is not the god she paid respects to now, was she?”

  “Yet Death too has children, both of actual gods and godsblooded…?”

  “You’re taking to my lessons a little better than I expected, honestly. You seem so aloof.”

  “You’re dodging the question.”

  And so on. That sort of banter was fun too. Harpies were so *boring* to talk to. How did your flight go, did you see any bandits, are there travelers threatening the vilge, the harvest is coming up, they’re going to hold another game of skyball soon to determine which tribe sits upon the highest seat… And so on. That sort of eternal doldrum that comes from being stuck on a mountain your whole life.

  “So you’re born from your people’s god of war?”

  One day they found themself perched on Homer’s shoulderpad again, idly scratching at it with their talons.

  “Born from is overselling it, little bird.” Homer seemed to not mind, his gait merely becoming a little more right leaning to try to adjust to the weight.

  “Some ancestor of mine was born from War, and that fire has carried through the line, hotter in others, colder in some… I’m the st ember.”

  Something about his tone makes them stop their scratching.

  “Do you have family, old man?”

  Homer’s stagger becomes a little heavier, yet the pace does not slow. It almost speeds up. They can feel some heat underneath the pauldron.

  Like his blood boils.

  “Had. Son and wife. Decided to leave when the urges got bad again. My son deserves a better life, my wife a better husband. And I have a job to do now.”

  His bout with War. That they knew of.

  “... And are you going to go back to them if you win?”

  They weren’t the best at recognizing feelings through facial expressions. They could never tell if their sister disapproved of them or if she was merely ambivalent of them. But something about the overencompassing *sorrow* found in Homer’s expression struck through even to them.

  “I suppose I ought to. The wife is probably wondering where I wandered off to.”

  They both know that he’s not going back. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he’s going to burn out into cinders when facing his sire. They become quiet after that, but Aymanah finds themself perching on his shoulder more and more often, and he seems to get more and more used to it until his stagger disappears.

  It wasn’t fun, but it was interesting. And they felt pity for the old man… But they had the good sense to not show it. Did Maia also feel this sort of pity? He was her guardian, her guiding light. Did she feel sad about the reason for his journey? Did Maia have compints? Or did she accept it all, and Aymanah would just have to accept it too?

  They had to see.They had to see so many things.

  After about a week of travel, they’d left the mountain entirely and were now in the valley leading outside of the mountain range. The Sawbone was becoming distant, and they couldn’t see the tip of the mountain anymore. Foliage was becoming more common. Homer mentioned a settlement of humans close by, something he called a ‘border outpost.’

  Bordering what, though?

  “It’s to watch for the harpies, or so the old logbooks say. Nobody really uses it for that purpose anymore… It’s just an old log fort with no real purpose anymore.”

  Watch for the harpies. Aymanah’s expression doesn’t even twitch, but they longingly stare to the Sawbone anyway. Just what happened in eons long gone? What caused their people to isote themselves like so? What caused the humans to become so wary of a race that is so far away, so weak? If the humans tried to come up the mountains, they would likely wipe the harpies out. Yet they never did. They feared them.

  Hatred was illogical, generational, and it defined them all.

  Homer admitted that he wasn’t sure whether they’d let Aymanah into the fort, but they just shrugged and nded off of Homer’s shoulder. There were some ideas thrown about; what if they wore Maia’s spare robe and hid their appearance? That wouldn’t work, there were no boots that could hide their talons. What if Aymanah slept outside the fort and Maia and Homer just came to see them? That was obviously inconvenient.

  In the end Aymanah just hopped off of Homer’s shoulder and walked to the city gate, followed by the jogging pair of humans. Homer had already protectively stepped in front of them just in case anyone tried to skewer them with an arrow, but the eerie quiet continued… Until a guard slowly peeked over the gate, took a list of all three, and then casually shouted for the gate to open.

  Maia’s and Homer’s surprise was not alleviated by Aymanah grunting, circling around the giant man and then walking inside ahead of the pair. The fort wasn’t big enough to host a castle town of its own, but the insides were a bit more poputed than expected. Lots of tents. Merchant caravans coming and going, a few aspiring monster hunters using this as their base of operations, some locals employed by the government like soldiers, the fort’s captain, bcksmiths and cooks…

  … And while Aymanah drew looks, no-one remarked on the matter.Homer’s scratching the back of his neck, frowning.

  “I should be gd nobody’s being blisteringly racist or ready to skewer you, but I’d been expecting a little more pushback…”

  Asking around got some answers. Apparently one of the smallest tribes- the Galewings of the lowest peak- had been quietly trading with the fort on occasion. Such would’ve been considered heresy by the other tribes and a crime by the government of the Godsblooded capital, so both sides kept quiet. The Galewings would’ve starved and were too proud to ask for aid or to merge their tribe with another, and the captain of the fort made good money on selling rare goods from the mountain. Mostly herbs, sometimes weaves made by the harpies.

  “Well, at least your people are slowly working on tearing down old hatreds…?” Maia tried to helpfully add.

  “Because their pride necessitates denying tradition. Who am I to judge. I left the mountain.” Aymanah idly scrapes at the ground.

  “We should just be gd you’ll be okay. The closer we get to the capital the less people will care. Had we gone back to the way me and Maia entered the range from, you’d be on a stake. The capital’s folk barely know what a harpy is.”

  So, the trio managed to fork over some of their supplies to buy the right to camp out in the fort for the night. Homer’s suggestion was to spend a few days here, gather more food and supplies, map out the mood on the road ahead and then start the trip. It’d be a straight, direct trip from here. No diversions, no natural obstacles. Maybe two weeks worth of travel time on foot.

  Less if they had a horse and a carriage.The tent presented yet new challenges: Aymanah could not perch on Homer’s shoulder here. Too cramped of a space. They had to find a railing slightly to the side… But they found this comfortable. The wind here was warm, and nobody bothered them. Sweet dreams slowly overtook the harpy-

  the party wholly unaware of the nonsense that awaited them tomorrow.