Hello! I wrote a thing about my main progen, Blizzard, and how she got her wings!!! I wasn't going to stop it where I did but I checked the word count on google docs and it was 666 words and I- well I just Had To, you know? /lh
Gifts are not things I receive often. Really, the only thing I've ever gotten has been detrimental. I was given the gift of life, sure, but the hardships that come with life are hardships I did not ask for. I would never force those onto another being. It was… selfish of my mother to have me. Maybe she didn’t even want me, maybe she never asked for me either. I hope she can rest easy in the afterlife, whatever that may be for her.
I’ve always been envious of dustravens and their capacity for flight. To be so free, go wherever you’d like without the borders of territory dragging you down. It sounds incredible.
I was in disbelief when Sage offered it to me. The gift of flight. He was cryptic about it, but in an intriguing way. I want to know how a wolf could fly.
“A ritual,” The bird tells me as we sit around lit candles in a circle. It almost looks like a summoning circle. Maybe it is. Numerous other members of his flock are gathered, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d guess I’m about to be sacrificed.
“Blizzard.” A duster says. “Do you accept the gift?”
I want to ask more questions. I want to know if this is a trap. I suppose if it is, it’s too late to back out. “... Yes.”
The birds caw in unison, a tongue I’ve longed to learn. There's a method to their cries, like they’re calling upon something. Someone.
Everything goes dark.
I… awaken in a void of nothingness. No, not nothingness; nothingness implies a lack of potential. It’s… empty.
A deep voice speaks, booming into my ears in a language I’ve never heard. A god? An ancient tongue, long forgotten? Perhaps I am simply too beneath the creature speaking it to understand.
Then, it speaks in words I understand. “Why should we grant you this gift?”
The word feels meaningless. Gift. I still feel dazed and confused, but manage a response. “Because I’ve earned it.”
Laughter. “What makes you think so?”
“B-because I’ve been nothing but kind to a world that has been anything but.”
A silence falls upon the room. Then, there’s a striking pain in my back below my shoulder blades. I howl in pain, and growths begin to form. I cannot see them, but I can feel them, an ache, a need to be free.
Feathers sprout from fur, agony spreading through my whole back and chest. It itches like nothing I’ve ever felt before. In my vision spreads symbols, symbols I feel as though I recognize but have never seen before.
I begin to cry. The ritual… it’s… giving me wings.
I’m not sure what kind of tears they are. They certainly are not mourning, there is nothing to mourn.
Except maybe the wolf I used to be.
When the pain subsides, I manage to pull myself to my paws. The world around me is spinning, but I can be certain I am out of the void. I can hear ringing and Sage, and see the other dustravens crowded around me.
Let her breathe, Sage's voice says dully, low and numb in my ears. You know the transformation is exhausting.
“Hello, little wing.” A raven coos.
I growl in pain and move to lift my head, finding I have small, underdeveloped wings flapping behind me. They are not completely featherless, but given my age I am surprised they’re as small as they are.
The birds step back significantly, except for Sage, who rests right by my side. I almost snap in pain and panic, but he doesn’t budge as my maw opens and my jaws move for his talons. Instead, he offers me a pat on the head with them.
“You did well.” He says.
“What did I do?” I ask, memories from the void fading fast.
He doesn’t answer. The birds begin to caw again, but this time in my language. One of us! They chant.
