The Journey South: Week One
The descent from Eagle territory took three days—slower than the ascent, complicated by gravity and exhaustion and the fact that Siddy had discovered he could, in fact, chew through leather if given enough ti and motivation.
"Fourth tether this morning," Leo announced, holding up the chewed remains. "He’s getting faster."
"Or we’re getting slower at noticing," Naga said, retrieving the iridescent escape artist from where he was attempting to investigate a particularly interesting-looking ravine.
Siddy hissed his protest, then imdiately tried to bite the hand that had saved him.
"You are absolutely your father’s child," Alex said, watching Naga handle the squirming snakeling with practiced efficiency. "Stubborn, aggressive, and completely convinced you’re invincible."
"He gets the stubbornness from you," Naga countered, securing Siddy in his carrier with double knots.
"I’m not stubborn, I’m determined."
"Sa thing," all three mates said in unison.
Skye, walking behind them with Sterling still contentedly draped over his shoulders, made that soft sound that might have been a laugh.
By the ti they reached the foothills, everyone was exhausted but triumphant—six divine artifacts collected, twelve party mbers intact, and only minor injuries (Granite had scraped his paw on a sharp rock, Alex had twisted his ankle slightly, and Onyx had sohow gotten tree sap in his scales again despite not being anywhere near trees).
The landscape began to change as they traveled south.
The mountains gave way to rolling hills.
The air grew warr, drier.
Pine forests transitioned to deciduous trees, then to scrubland dotted with hardy bushes and strange twisted plants Alex didn’t recognize.
And in the distance, visible on clear days, the volcanic peaks of Dragon territory rose like dark teeth against the sky—smoking, ominous, absolutely not inviting.
"That’s where we’re going," Alex said, staring at the distant mountains.
"That’s where the Fire Stone is," Naga confird.
"It looks friendly," Leo said sarcastically.
"It looks like it wants to kill us," Zale corrected, his scales already looking duller from the dry air and increasing distance from major water sources.
"Both things can be true," Granite rumbled.
Skye said nothing, but his wings twitched—that familiar aborted movent that suggested he was thinking about flight, about escape, about whether he could still rember how to catch thermal updrafts.
River chirped from Alex’s wrist, drawing everyone’s attention.
The smallest snakeling had lifted his head, tongue flickering rapidly toward the south. Those ocean-blue eyes were focused on sothing none of the adults could see.
"What is it?" Alex asked softly. "What do you sense?"
River flicked his tongue again, then settled back into his usual calm coil.
Whatever he’d detected apparently wasn’t an imdiate threat.
[SNAKELING DEVELOPNT NOTE:
All six babies showing enhanced sensory abilities
Jade: Excellent threat assessnt, natural leadership
Ripple: Hyper-awareness of group dynamics
Siddy: Danger sense (which he unbotherly ignores)
Sterling: Spatial awareness, climbing prediction
Onyx: Surprisingly good at detecting water/food sources
River: Unknown but developing—possible precognition?]
They made camp that night in a small valley with a stream running through it—shallow but clean, enough for Zale to properly soak and for the babies to investigate the small fish darting through the current.
Jade caught one on his first attempt, his strike precise and confident.
Ripple watched carefully before trying, succeeding on his third attempt.
Siddy launched himself at a fish with such enthusiasm he went completely underwater and had to be fished out (hissing indignantly the entire ti).
Sterling tried to catch fish while simultaneously climbing the rocks, which went exactly as well as expected.
Onyx fell asleep mid-hunt and nearly drowned before Granite plucked him out.
River watched his siblings’ chaos, then calmly waited for a fish to swim directly to him before striking with minimal effort.
"Show-off," Alex said fondly, watching the smallest snakeling consu his prize with quiet efficiency.
Skye had settled near the stream’s edge, his wings spread slightly to catch the last warmth of the setting sun. Sterling, having finished his fish, slithered over and coiled in the joint of Skye’s right wing—apparently that was his preferred spot now.
"Does it hurt?" Alex asked, settling nearby. "When he does that?"
"No," Skye said, watching the tiny snakeling settle. "It’s... nice. Like the wing has purpose again."
He paused.
"I still can’t fly," he admitted quietly. "I’ve tried. When no one was looking. The wings move, but I can’t make them lift . It’s like I’ve forgotten the feeling."
"Maybe you’re trying too hard," Alex suggested. "Maybe you need to stop thinking about flying and just... feel the wind."
"Easy to say when you’ve never flown," Skye said, not unkindly.
"True," Alex admitted. "But I have forgotten how to do things that used to be natural. After my parents died, I forgot how to sleep properly. How to eat without feeling guilty. How to exist in the world without them.
He looked at River, still coiled peacefully around his wrist.
"And then I woke up here, and everything was different, and I had to learn entirely new ways of being alive. It wasn’t the sa as before—it couldn’t be. But it was real. It was mine."
Skye was quiet for a long mont.
"How long?" he asked finally. "Before you felt like yourself again?"
"I’m still figuring that out," Alex said honestly. "But I think that’s okay. I think being yourself doesn’t an being who you were before. It ans being who you choose to beco next."
Sterling chirped softly from his wing-perch, as if agreeing.
Skye’s hand ca up to gently stroke the snakeling’s scales.
"He likes you," Alex observed.
"He likes my wings," Skye corrected.
"Sa thing. You are your wings. They’re part of you, even when they don’t work the way you want them to."
[QUEST UPDATE: "The Broken Wings"]
[Progress: 75%]
[Skye engaging in conversation, accepting physical contact, beginning to process grief]
[Recomndation: Continue gentle support, don’t push too hard]
That night, as they settled into their makeshift camp, Skye did sothing unexpected.
He shifted position so his wings created a small shelter—and Jade, recognizing a good tactical position when he saw one, imdiately claid it. Ripple followed. Then Sterling. Then Siddy (after being retrieved from his latest escape attempt).
Then Onyx (still half-asleep). And finally River, who coiled contentedly in the warst spot near Skye’s chest.
All six snakelings, nestled in the curve of a broken eagle’s wings.
Skye looked down at them—these tiny, vulnerable lives that had chosen his wings as safe—and sothing in his dull silver eyes flickered.
Not happiness. Not yet.
But sothing.
"They trust you," Alex said softly from where he lay between Naga and Leo.
"They trust the wings," Skye said.
"Sa thing," Alex repeated.
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