Lazarus

Lazarus raced through the sky, yelling in one of their many made up languages. They were being pursued by a flock of Harpies. Granted, they should have seen this coming. After all, they had been collecting fallen feathers in Harpy territory, where they shouldn't have been in the first place.
They ducked behind a cloud, panting to catch their breath as they took a moment to hide. Only a moment passed before the Harpies flew by, thankfully without noticing the skydancer that they had been chasing. Knowing they were practically in the clear as far as risk of harm went, Lazarus ducked into the cloud that they had been hiding behind.
Soft, cool, maybe a bit damp, but it was relaxing none the less. Digging through the bag, they pulled out the collection of feathers that they had gathered. They spread the vibrant array out before themself, grinning like a fool. Though they had NEARLY gotten caught, it had been totally worth it. If it weren't for the fact that they knew that they'd fall out as soon as they took flight, they'd consider tucking in them amongst their own feathers.
Though maybe not suitable for a temporary accent, these feathers would become a fashion statement all the same. After all, Lazarus prides themself on their outfit designs, and always is looking for new materials to use - no matter how odd (or dangerous) they may be.