Name: Aceofmanynames
ID: 582910
Entry Prompt: Big Wide Wingy Things: Story
Entry Title: Leap of Faith
Dragon Author: Forte
Extra: Some scries of the characters present. Edited because I can't embed images for the life of me.
Once upon a time, there was a Fae. Born to a large clutch sheltered away in the hollow of a tree, she blended in most wonderfully, with a dark, striped body, eye like markings, and leaf green wings. Her eyes had an unmatched curiosity to them, and each day, she’d walk around the inside of the tree, examining the hollow, darkened walls. When the sun set, and her exhausted parents finally slept, she liked to untangle herself from her siblings, and creep silently to the hole in the tree. Inside was warmth, and safety. Outside was cold and dangerous, or so said her parents. That was fine by her. She could always wait in here, after all. Outside, dark branches writhed and twisted to conceal their little hovel, leaves just barely visible in the silvery glow of the moonlight. Here, she was free. Free to imagine, and to wonder, about what lied just outside her reach. Still, she didn’t want to go. She wouldn’t dare, at least, not yet. She remained in her home, dreaming and wishing on every single comet she spotted.
It was only when she came out into the sunlight for the first time that she noticed a problem. The wings of her brothers and sisters were broad, occupying almost half their body. Hers were small and shrivelled looking, rather like dead leaves. If she moved them, they hurt. Her siblings on the other hand, could move them as much as they wished. When it came time to fly for the first time, her parents encouraged her to take the leap. It was only a short distance to glide, from one branch to the next. Her siblings all seemed eager to give it a try. So why not? Despite the sickness in her stomach that came from seeing the muddy ground yawning below her, she wanted to try. So, she opened her painful wings, the thin skin and frail bones stretching, and she leapt, trusting the air to catch her and deliver her safely.
No sooner than she left the branch, gravity pulled her downwards, way off target from the branch. Desperately, she flapped her wings to no avail. The ground rushed up underneath her, suddenly uncomfortably close, until she landed with a harsh thump onto a lower part of the tree. All the wind was knocked out of her. Her wings ached terribly, and when her father rushed down to inspect her, he found a series of small tears in them, oozing blood. She couldn’t fly. That fact was plain and simple to see, now. He didn’t utter a single word in his shame, as he carried her back up to the nest and tucked her away. It was safer here for her. No one would find this safe space. Maybe she’d grow out of it, he hoped to himself. Maybe one day, her wings would work naturally.
For many days and many nights she remained inside the hovel, wallowing and sulking. This was unfair. How come her siblings got to fly? Why did they hatch with all their pieces in a line, with everything sorted out and normal? She was born funny, and she hated it. Her wings may as well have been tissue paper, for all the good they did her. If she wasn’t fast, or clever, or strong, what did she have? Nothing. She came to the conclusion of nothing, and when her parents and siblings began to visit less, moving on to other places and doing other things, she wept. There was no one here to see her shame, she reasoned. Not like the hornworms could judge her. They were free to squirm and wriggle and do whatever they wanted until someone came along and ate them. Sometimes she wanted to be eaten, so she’d stop having to think about all of this, and just go to the next world. She’d have good wings there. Her eyes closed, and with that, her old world washed away.
----
Clang.
Clang.
Clang.
That’s an odd noise. She’s never heard that before.
Clang.
Blearily, she opens her eyes. The sight she’s greeted with is not one of her home, and for an instant she panics. Everything around her is so hot and bright, and she feels puny in the scope of it all. Creatures she’s never seen before scurry back and forth, carrying trays and buckets many times her size. The air is filled with the scent of smoke and burning. She desperately wishes to scurry away, hide somewhere safe again. It’s all too loud. She begins to half run and half stumble, diving between the legs of individuals tens of times her size, praying that no one steps on her. A substance she’s never seen before clacks and clicks beneath her tiny feet. Her claws find no purchase in it, and she skids, sliding directly into someone’s ankle.
“Is that a bug or- OH!” They seem startled, even more than her. Flailing, she attempts to scramble away, but their hand wrap lightly around her midsection, lifting her up to eye height. They’re utterly massive, with long, well maintained whiskers, and an impressively bright mane. Decorations and varying piercings hang from their ears. A cold fear sinks deep into her when she finally meets their gaze, dark red. Just like blood.
“You’re a funny little critter. What’re you doing floppin’ about?” They poke her nose with one utterly massive claw. She can only squeak in response.
“I’m probably scarin’ you.” They laugh, and the sound practically causes an earthquake for her. Slowly, they set her on top of their head, right between their branching horns. Suddenly, she’s above the world. She can see everyone as they go about their daily life, bustling across wherever this was. It seemed...lively. Much more lively than her own home.
“What brings you here, anyways? You’re lookin’ a little young to be here alone.”
She knows what she wants, even if it’s only a far off dream. The words come out of her before she can stop them, and she hardly recognizes her own weakened voice.
“I want to fly.”
They have to have noticed her predicament. She’s not like them. Not at all. The long silence that follows after her statement is almost torturous. Did she say something wrong?
“I can help you with that.” They lift her off of their head, allowing her to perch on one of their fingers as they stoop, reaching to grab a measuring string. Ideas flooded their mind. At last. Inspiration had come in the form of a tiny green Fae.
The days and nights that followed were full of the sounds of hard labor. She could only watch as they bent over the anvil, hammering away at some infinitely tiny glowing object. With each strike, the metal flowed and twisted into new shapes, some intentional and others accidental. They had scarcely slept. All that mattered in this moment was finishing their project, soon to be the cornerstone of their smithing shop. For months, they had lamented about how to make something like this. But now? It was like the Fae had given them some sort of arcane knowledge. They simply had to finish. One more night, that was all it would take, and then their masterwork would be complete.
A prosthetic. The first of its kind.
Neither of them knew the word, for they weren’t scholars, but the spirit was there. When dawn broke on the third day, the world was changed, in a quiet way. A previously impossible way.
“Come down here.” Part of her adventurousness had returned in their presence. An old piece of them, given new life. She clambered down the roof of the forge, claws hooking into the cracks, before she flung herself, landing on top of their head. It was a good vantage point. The best she’d ever had.
“I’ve got you a gift.” In their hands was a tiny miracle. Two small wings, forged from a lightweight alloy. She barely understood what was happening, but she certainly felt the change in mood. A warm joy spread through her, sinking and wiggling contentedly into the very depths of her soul.
“Can I put them on?” Forgoing all notions of being careful, she scrambles off their face, leaping down onto their hands and then the ground. Her eyes are full of hope. Maybe. Maybe this time.
“Of course. This strap goes here, that buckle there, and...”
Click.
The world was changed once more when the final latch was fitted. She felt that her enthusiasm alone would be enough to carry her off the ground.
“Now, a standin’ takeoff won’t do...here.” They lift her again, and she wobbles in their palm, close to bursting into a pile of confetti. She’s raised high. Higher than their head. Higher than she’s ever been before, even back in the forest.
“Fly.” At that one word, she leaps, air rushing beneath her wings. Her new, strong, metal wings. The sunlight hits them just right, and she knows it. She knows she’s found freedom, and the sounds of their delighted cheer fueled her for the rest of her days.
----
“The end.” I begin to close the scroll delicately, not wanting to damage its old parchment. The hatchlings I was reading to are all sleepy now, curled up over one another and their respective blankets in the clan den. A thin beam of sunlight pokes through the tangled roof, creeping over the room. My eyes close as well, contentedly.
It shines on my new wings just right.
ID: 582910
Entry Prompt: Big Wide Wingy Things: Story
Entry Title: Leap of Faith
Dragon Author: Forte
Extra: Some scries of the characters present. Edited because I can't embed images for the life of me.
Once upon a time, there was a Fae. Born to a large clutch sheltered away in the hollow of a tree, she blended in most wonderfully, with a dark, striped body, eye like markings, and leaf green wings. Her eyes had an unmatched curiosity to them, and each day, she’d walk around the inside of the tree, examining the hollow, darkened walls. When the sun set, and her exhausted parents finally slept, she liked to untangle herself from her siblings, and creep silently to the hole in the tree. Inside was warmth, and safety. Outside was cold and dangerous, or so said her parents. That was fine by her. She could always wait in here, after all. Outside, dark branches writhed and twisted to conceal their little hovel, leaves just barely visible in the silvery glow of the moonlight. Here, she was free. Free to imagine, and to wonder, about what lied just outside her reach. Still, she didn’t want to go. She wouldn’t dare, at least, not yet. She remained in her home, dreaming and wishing on every single comet she spotted.
It was only when she came out into the sunlight for the first time that she noticed a problem. The wings of her brothers and sisters were broad, occupying almost half their body. Hers were small and shrivelled looking, rather like dead leaves. If she moved them, they hurt. Her siblings on the other hand, could move them as much as they wished. When it came time to fly for the first time, her parents encouraged her to take the leap. It was only a short distance to glide, from one branch to the next. Her siblings all seemed eager to give it a try. So why not? Despite the sickness in her stomach that came from seeing the muddy ground yawning below her, she wanted to try. So, she opened her painful wings, the thin skin and frail bones stretching, and she leapt, trusting the air to catch her and deliver her safely.
No sooner than she left the branch, gravity pulled her downwards, way off target from the branch. Desperately, she flapped her wings to no avail. The ground rushed up underneath her, suddenly uncomfortably close, until she landed with a harsh thump onto a lower part of the tree. All the wind was knocked out of her. Her wings ached terribly, and when her father rushed down to inspect her, he found a series of small tears in them, oozing blood. She couldn’t fly. That fact was plain and simple to see, now. He didn’t utter a single word in his shame, as he carried her back up to the nest and tucked her away. It was safer here for her. No one would find this safe space. Maybe she’d grow out of it, he hoped to himself. Maybe one day, her wings would work naturally.
For many days and many nights she remained inside the hovel, wallowing and sulking. This was unfair. How come her siblings got to fly? Why did they hatch with all their pieces in a line, with everything sorted out and normal? She was born funny, and she hated it. Her wings may as well have been tissue paper, for all the good they did her. If she wasn’t fast, or clever, or strong, what did she have? Nothing. She came to the conclusion of nothing, and when her parents and siblings began to visit less, moving on to other places and doing other things, she wept. There was no one here to see her shame, she reasoned. Not like the hornworms could judge her. They were free to squirm and wriggle and do whatever they wanted until someone came along and ate them. Sometimes she wanted to be eaten, so she’d stop having to think about all of this, and just go to the next world. She’d have good wings there. Her eyes closed, and with that, her old world washed away.
----
Clang.
Clang.
Clang.
That’s an odd noise. She’s never heard that before.
Clang.
Blearily, she opens her eyes. The sight she’s greeted with is not one of her home, and for an instant she panics. Everything around her is so hot and bright, and she feels puny in the scope of it all. Creatures she’s never seen before scurry back and forth, carrying trays and buckets many times her size. The air is filled with the scent of smoke and burning. She desperately wishes to scurry away, hide somewhere safe again. It’s all too loud. She begins to half run and half stumble, diving between the legs of individuals tens of times her size, praying that no one steps on her. A substance she’s never seen before clacks and clicks beneath her tiny feet. Her claws find no purchase in it, and she skids, sliding directly into someone’s ankle.
“Is that a bug or- OH!” They seem startled, even more than her. Flailing, she attempts to scramble away, but their hand wrap lightly around her midsection, lifting her up to eye height. They’re utterly massive, with long, well maintained whiskers, and an impressively bright mane. Decorations and varying piercings hang from their ears. A cold fear sinks deep into her when she finally meets their gaze, dark red. Just like blood.
“You’re a funny little critter. What’re you doing floppin’ about?” They poke her nose with one utterly massive claw. She can only squeak in response.
“I’m probably scarin’ you.” They laugh, and the sound practically causes an earthquake for her. Slowly, they set her on top of their head, right between their branching horns. Suddenly, she’s above the world. She can see everyone as they go about their daily life, bustling across wherever this was. It seemed...lively. Much more lively than her own home.
“What brings you here, anyways? You’re lookin’ a little young to be here alone.”
She knows what she wants, even if it’s only a far off dream. The words come out of her before she can stop them, and she hardly recognizes her own weakened voice.
“I want to fly.”
They have to have noticed her predicament. She’s not like them. Not at all. The long silence that follows after her statement is almost torturous. Did she say something wrong?
“I can help you with that.” They lift her off of their head, allowing her to perch on one of their fingers as they stoop, reaching to grab a measuring string. Ideas flooded their mind. At last. Inspiration had come in the form of a tiny green Fae.
The days and nights that followed were full of the sounds of hard labor. She could only watch as they bent over the anvil, hammering away at some infinitely tiny glowing object. With each strike, the metal flowed and twisted into new shapes, some intentional and others accidental. They had scarcely slept. All that mattered in this moment was finishing their project, soon to be the cornerstone of their smithing shop. For months, they had lamented about how to make something like this. But now? It was like the Fae had given them some sort of arcane knowledge. They simply had to finish. One more night, that was all it would take, and then their masterwork would be complete.
A prosthetic. The first of its kind.
Neither of them knew the word, for they weren’t scholars, but the spirit was there. When dawn broke on the third day, the world was changed, in a quiet way. A previously impossible way.
“Come down here.” Part of her adventurousness had returned in their presence. An old piece of them, given new life. She clambered down the roof of the forge, claws hooking into the cracks, before she flung herself, landing on top of their head. It was a good vantage point. The best she’d ever had.
“I’ve got you a gift.” In their hands was a tiny miracle. Two small wings, forged from a lightweight alloy. She barely understood what was happening, but she certainly felt the change in mood. A warm joy spread through her, sinking and wiggling contentedly into the very depths of her soul.
“Can I put them on?” Forgoing all notions of being careful, she scrambles off their face, leaping down onto their hands and then the ground. Her eyes are full of hope. Maybe. Maybe this time.
“Of course. This strap goes here, that buckle there, and...”
Click.
The world was changed once more when the final latch was fitted. She felt that her enthusiasm alone would be enough to carry her off the ground.
“Now, a standin’ takeoff won’t do...here.” They lift her again, and she wobbles in their palm, close to bursting into a pile of confetti. She’s raised high. Higher than their head. Higher than she’s ever been before, even back in the forest.
“Fly.” At that one word, she leaps, air rushing beneath her wings. Her new, strong, metal wings. The sunlight hits them just right, and she knows it. She knows she’s found freedom, and the sounds of their delighted cheer fueled her for the rest of her days.
----
“The end.” I begin to close the scroll delicately, not wanting to damage its old parchment. The hatchlings I was reading to are all sleepy now, curled up over one another and their respective blankets in the clan den. A thin beam of sunlight pokes through the tangled roof, creeping over the room. My eyes close as well, contentedly.
It shines on my new wings just right.
he/him, they/them
