Page 9

"The mountain accepts or rejects," I pressed, deliberately using their own logic, their own framework.

"She has walked these paths, navigated the disruptions that guard your territory, disruptions that likely stem from the very imbalance affecting your Shardwings.

Has the mountain rejected her? Has she fallen? She stands before you, unharmed."

This clearly struck a chord. The spears lowered slightly, though the suspicion in their eyes remained, deeply ingrained.

They were warriors, protectors of their isolated home for countless generations, and ingrained caution warred with ancient protocols of hospitality and the undeniable evidence of our safe passage through territory they knew to be dangerous.

Before the lead hunter could formulate a response, a small group of Aerie Kin children, drawn by the commotion or perhaps simply by insatiable curiosity, approached cautiously from a side path hidden among the rocks.

Their large golden eyes, replicas of their parents', were wide with wonder and a distinct lack of ingrained prejudice as they stared openly at Jen.

"Why is your skin that color?" one small female child asked bluntly, pointing a finger directly at Jen's face. Her simple hide wrap was adorned with tiny, iridescent Shardwing feathers, marking her as the child of a tender.

"Where is your tail?" asked a slightly older boy, circling boldly behind Jen, crouching low as if expecting to find the missing appendage tucked away somewhere. "Did it break off in the fall from the sky?"

"Are your markings broken?" observed a third child, a girl perhaps nearing adolescence, her own nascent golden lifelines just beginning to emerge in delicate patterns across her shoulders. She pointed at the silver patterns beneath Jen's skin. "They look wrong. They don't shine like ours."

I stepped slightly aside, allowing the interaction, sensing this might be more effective than any argument I could make.

"They mean no offense, Jen," I murmured, translating the children's rapid, archaic dialect for her benefit while trying to manage the situation.

"Young ones lack... filters. They have never seen a human before. "

"It's all right," Jen assured me quietly, then surprised me by kneeling gracefully to the children's level, meeting their intense curiosity without intimidation.

"My skin is this color because I am human," she explained simply, her voice calm and gentle. "Humans don't have tails."

The youngest boy's eyes widened further. "Never? How do you balance on high paths without falling?"

"Very carefully," Jen replied with a small, genuine smile that transformed her face, softening the lines of tension. "And sometimes with help from friends." She glanced up at me briefly, a fleeting look.

"My markings are different, not broken," she added, touching the silver patterns at her wrist where they were clearly visible. "They help me hear things others can't."

"Like what?" the older girl asked, skepticism evident in her young voice, mimicking the adults' distrust.

"Like the songs of the mountain," Jen said softly, her voice taking on a resonant quality. "And the true calls of the Shardwings. I can hear patterns in them—beautiful, complex patterns, even when they are disrupted by the... noise."

The child's skepticism faltered, replaced by cautious wonder. "You hear the true-voice? Only the eldest tenders claim such gifts."

The children's blunt questions and Jen's calm, straightforward responses created an unexpected moment of connection, bypassing the adults' ingrained hostility.

I watched as some of the hunters' and guards' expressions softened slightly as they observed the interaction. Children often sensed true intent better than adults clouded by history and prejudice.

"The young ones show wisdom," a female voice spoke suddenly from the small crowd of onlookers that had gathered silently behind the guards.

A middle-aged tender stepped forward, her clothing adorned with the distinctive feathers and polished stones of her calling. "If she hears the true-voice, perhaps the Ancestors themselves guide her steps to our door in this time of need."

An ancient female must have been summoned by the commotion, observed this entire exchange from the edge of the gathering, her ancient eyes narrowed, missing nothing.

Finally, she made a decision, stepping forward with slow but commanding grace. "You may remain within the settlement while the council deliberates," she announced, her voice carrying the quiet weight of absolute authority.

Her tone made it clear this was temporary permission, a test, not a welcome. "Mateha," she nodded to the tender who had spoken, "show them to the visitors' waiting quarters. They will not wander the settlement unescorted."

Mateha nodded respectfully to the Elder, then gestured for us to follow, her expression carefully neutral but perhaps holding a hint of sympathy.

As the guards lowered their spears, allowing us passage into the settlement proper, I exchanged a quick glance with Jen. The first, most dangerous hurdle was passed, but we were a long way from gaining the trust we needed. Still, the children's curiosity and Mateha's cautious support were openings.

"The Elder is called Vairangi," Mateha informed us quietly as we walked along a narrow, winding path carved into the rock. "She has led the Aerie for three full cycles of the third moon. Her wisdom is respected throughout the peaks, but her caution runs as deep as the mountain's roots."

"We appreciate your intervention, Healer Mateha," I replied sincerely. "The children's welcome helped ease tensions."

Mateha's gaze lingered on Jen for a moment. "The young see with clearer eyes sometimes. And the marked one..." she paused, searching for the right word, "Jen... she speaks to the children with respect, without fear or condescension. This is noted by the mothers."

Our temporary quarters proved to be a small cave set slightly apart from the main living areas, clearly designated for infrequent visitors.

It was clean but sparse, containing simple woven sleeping furs laid upon raised stone platforms and a small heating crystal embedded in the wall, providing minimal warmth against the mountain chill. The entrance was narrow, easily defensible, offering a clear view of the approaches.

"Rest," Mateha advised before leaving us. "The council will not decide quickly. They weigh tradition against necessity, fear against hope. I will bring food when the evening meal is prepared."

Once we were alone, the silence in the small cave felt profound after the tension of the arrival. Relief washed through me, loosening muscles I hadn't realized were clenched. Jen sank onto one of the sleeping furs, letting out a long breath.

"You did well," I told her, moving to stand near the entrance, instinctively taking up a watchful position. "With the children. With the hunters. You showed courage."

She looked up, offering a small, weary smile. "Children are the same everywhere, it seems. Curious before they learn to fear." She rubbed her temples. "Though trying to filter out all those watching eyes and whispers while talking to them was... intense."

"The tender, Mateha—she spoke in your defense. That may prove valuable."

Jen nodded. "She seems more open than the others." Her gaze drifted around the small cave. "This place... it feels ancient."

"It is," I confirmed. "They hold to ways abandoned by the Eastern Settlements generations ago. Closer to the mountain, perhaps, but also more resistant to change."

I felt her exhaustion, layered with a persistent thrum of anxiety and the lingering ache from her heightened senses processing this overwhelming new environment. Yet beneath it all was a core of resilient determination that I found increasingly admirable.

"We should rest while we can," I suggested, turning from the entrance to face her. The small space felt charged with our shared adrenaline and the unspoken awareness between us. "Conserve strength for whatever the council decides, and whatever comes next."

She nodded, arranging her sleeping fur. The fading light filtering through the entrance accentuated the silver markings along her arms and neck, giving them an almost ethereal quality against her skin.

The patterns were beautiful in their alien complexity—so different from Nyxari lifelines, yet sharing some fundamental harmony with the energies of this world that I couldn't quite define, a harmony the Aerie Kin feared rather than recognized.

"Iros?" she said quietly as I settled onto my own sleeping fur across the small space.

"Yes?"

"Thank you," she said softly, her gaze meeting mine across the dim cave. "For standing between me and those spears. For... not letting them see I was terrified."

Something warm and unexpected expanded in my chest at her quiet words, a feeling that went beyond duty or partnership. "We face this challenge as one," I replied, my voice rougher than intended. "I would permit no harm to come to you."

The weight of his promise settled between us. As darkness fell completely, enveloping the Aerie in the deep silence of the high peaks, I maintained a light meditative state rather than allowing full sleep—alert to potential threats, yet allowing my body to rest.

Beside me, Jen's breathing eventually steadied into the rhythm of deep sleep, her face relaxed and vulnerable in repose, illuminated faintly by the glow of the heating crystal.

The implied trust in her ability to sleep soundly in such unfamiliar and potentially hostile circumstances, under my watch, stirred that protective instinct within me once again, now mingled with a confusing tenderness.

Tomorrow would bring the council's decision, and perhaps the true beginning of our work here. Tonight, we had achieved our first objective: we had reached the Aerie and secured, if not welcome, at least temporary shelter and a chance to be heard.