>>5130450After a few agonizing minutes of indecision it’s your taste buds that finally win out, luring you to the northern peaks and their tantalizing treats. After Calliope scurries for cover you stretch your seven wings skyward, pushing off from the cliffs as you begin to follow the jagged range to its promised spoils.
You realize you’d almost forgotten this sensation; the rush of wind, the air of a planet holding you aloft as you soar high above its surface…how long has it been since you last felt this free?
It’s then that a thought tickles at the corners of memory, a teased recollection that takes greater shape with every pump of your wings and twitch of your pin feathers. Across countless iterations it comes to you once more—a race with your siblings, on a planet now long dead.
A threat to the Crucible had manifested from beyond the stars—a thing whose appearance made no sense to the senses granted you. But still, when you, Behemoth, and Leviathan were loosed you were all within sight of one another…and so, you rushed to address the threat head-on. You’re not sure when it occurred to you that you were racing one another. Maybe it was when Behemoth’s bulky form tore through a mountain that he could have simply ordered aside, or how Leviathan kept bursting in and out of the ground, their tunneling marked with an urgency that felt more personal than business. Your form, back then…the air was a thick, so the body you were granted was far more technical than the one you’re piloting now. Jets of flame and fury carried you to the battle’s edge, but the spirit of competition carried you faster than duty’s call. It felt in that moment like an echo of a happiness you could just barely recall.
You won.
You wish you hadn’t.
Behemoth was angry. Leviathan was quiet. You’re not sure which was worse, after you three emerged victorious against your common foe.
You shake off the bad taste the recollection leaves in your mouth, intent to replace it with a pale treat as the white-capped mountains come into view. You land a little ways away from the peaks, careful not to disturb the substance with your fervent wingbeats as you tuck them close and stalk towards your target. The gnarled cliffs would make for difficult passage for any Daughter, but the sheer size of your vessel lets you take ginger steps, each one drawing you ever-nearer to this culinary mystery. Peering at it up close, it appears as you suspected—a fine collection of flakes that’ve gathered both on and around the peaks, with the spaces between collecting great heaps of the stuff. Hmm…no smell, and a tentative flick of your tongues at the surrounding air doesn’t give you enough to really get a sense for what it tastes like, so you scoop up a great mouthful of it and let the taste flood over your senses.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained!
(Continued)
