Feathers and Snow

The Elven city loomed in the distance, its once-proud spires softened by time and tragedy. They approached the gates with measured steps, the child trailing behind as always. They didn’t bother looking back to see if she would follow. She always did. 

Crumbling stone bricks and overgrown moss was the first thing to welcome them. Houses with multiple stories surrounded them, calling them further into the city. In the heart of the land stood a tall stone building, towering over the others. Gold accents and intricate statues decorated the castle, demanding the attention of newcomers. 

They paused to look around, unfamiliar with the land. Their first priority was to find somewhere to spend the night, and hopefully, some food would fall into the plan. Gentle conversations in hushed tones and the hum of magic filled the city air. 

Before they could continue on their path, two figures caught their eyes. The two were huddled together and mumbling something between them, glancing back and forth at them. They were slightly hidden under the awning of a nearby building. 

When the two saw them staring, they flinched before hesitantly walking towards them. In the light, they could see massive wings on the back of one of them. The other seemed to be made of a mixture of slime and snow, sparkling and shifting shapes with every step. 

Soon enough the figures had stopped in front of them, having to look up to make eye contact. 

“Oh, stars above,” the snow-skinned one gasped, eyes wide. “Is that—? No way.” 

The avian stepped forward, his sharp golden eyes scanning their face, stopping on the crescent moon mark on their forehead. “Are you the Wandering Moon?” 

They inclined their head slightly, unwilling to dignify the question with a full answer. That was enough confirmation. 

Behind them, the girl tugged at their sleeve as she spoke softly. “...What’s the Wandering Moon?” 

They sighed. She was speaking more now. A bad sign. 

Before they could answer, the shimmering girl gasped again and clapped her hands together. “Oh! Sorry, where are my manners? I’m Bávlá.” 

“I’m Qokirie,” the avian said, folding his large wings neatly against his back. The quail plume that sat atop of his head twitched as he studied them. 

With the two of them closer they could now make out what they were. The way Bávlá moved and looked indicated a Gelari, beings born from the elements of the Earth. Original forms made of slime that absorbed and combined with the nearest elements around them. And with her sparkling white skin, they could guess what she was from. 

The large wings and tail feathers gave Qokirie away, an avian. But with a closer look, they could see that he was a Quibblet, a much smaller species of avian with unique feathered plumes on their heads. They wondered if the humans that had lumped the avians together, calling them all ‘Avesfolk’, knew just how many different species and cultures existed within the one term. 

The girl tensed, shifting closer to them as though the introduction itself was a threat. When Bávlá noticed, her joyful expression melted into concern. She knelt, lowering herself to the child’s height. “Oh, sweetheart, who are you? Are you alright?” 

The girl didn’t answer. Instead, she shook her head and hid behind their clothes, gripping the fabric tight. 

They exhaled sharply. “She’s a human child who decided to follow me. That’s all.” They waved a dismissive hand. “You can ignore her.” 

Bávlá stood, frowning. Qokirie’s brows furrowed as he exchanged a glance with her. Something unspoken passed between them before he cleared his throat and turned back to them. “Well, putting that aside… could I bother you with a request.” 

Their head tilted, urging the boy to continue. He hesitated, his confident exterior crumbling in the blink of an eye. Fingers fidgeting, eyes darting to the side, wings drooping just the tiniest bit. 

“Would- would you write a letter for my father?” 

They gave him a long look. “Now?” 

Qokirie hesitated. “I—” 

Bávlá interrupted, perking up. The attention that was on the girl shifted to them. “Wait, have you ever been to Elfania before?” 

They frowned, uncertain why that mattered. “No.” 

The Gelari lit up with excitement, clasping her hands together. “Then we should give you a tour!” 

Qokirie sighed. “Bávlá—” 

“No, no, it’s perfect! You go home and get everything ready, and I’ll show them around.” She tilted her head slightly, her iridescent hair shifting between colors in the light, resembling a field of blooming crocus in fresh snow. 

“Or at least what’s left to be seen.” 

Qokirie pressed his lips into a thin line. Another silent exchange. Then, with a sharp nod, he turned on his heel and took off toward the residential district. Turned around, they could see half of his tawny hair pulled back. 

Bávlá spun on her heels and grinned at them, the two buns that were full of dangling trinkets and knick-knacks softly clinking. “Alright, let’s go!” 

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── 

The city wasn’t as they expected. It wasn’t an Elven city. Not anymore. 

Many of the people were not elves at all. They were Gelari and Avians. Animal ears and furry tails. Hooves and talons. Refugees. 

The girl must have noticed, too, because after a long stretch of silence, she asked, “Why?” 

Bávlá stopped mid-step, looking down at the girl in surprise. As if she hadn’t expected her to speak at all. She glanced around before realizing what the girl was asking. Slowly, her excitement dimmed. “We have nowhere else to go.” 

The girl’s grip on their sleeve loosened, but she stayed close. 

Bávlá tried to keep the tour cheerful, but they noticed the way she subtly altered their path when they neared crumbling ruins. The way her smile wavered when they passed places where homes had been but were no longer. 

Still, what they could see was nothing short of beautiful. Carefully placed stone bricks intertwined with growing ivy and blooming jasmine. A marketplace that was the busiest and most lively area. Fresh fruits next to hand crafted-jewelry and clothing. 

The steady thrum of magic danced throughout the city, despite its deteriorating stature. It coursed through the air and ran through the streets, bouncing from one person to the next. The rot of stolen magic hadn’t yet infected Elfania, magic that came from within the stone bricks themselves still pure and playful. 

It seemed the damage done to the surrounding area came from the people themselves.

Awnings that seemed to be made of ethereal silk, windows painted with hand-crushed dyes, and they could see the faint glow of fairy lights made with the dust that came from Pixies. 

For how big the city had seemed on the outside, it wasn’t too long before they arrived at what they assumed was Qokirie’s home. 

Inside, he was already setting food on the table. “It’s nothing special,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his head as his feathers tightened and tensed. “Sorry.” 

They waved him off, not caring for the simple pleasantries. “It’s fine.” 

“You should- do you want to eat before you begin?” 

The boy had cut himself off, his nerves getting the better of him. Standing before the Wandering Moon seemed to spook him, compared to Bávlá whose look of awe hadn’t quite disappeared yet. 

“No.” 

Right then, a stomach growled. 

The child froze. 

Bávlá laughed. “Go on, Kirie. We’ll handle this.” She clapped her hands together, looking down at the child with a warm smile unbefitting of her icy complex. “Let’s get you fed.” 

As they were led to a different room, soft conversations flitted past their ears in goodbye. The only thing they could make out was Bávlá asking for the child's name. 

“I… don’t know. Can’t remember.” 

They kept walking. It wasn’t their problem. 

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── 

Qokirie’s father was old. Not frail, but tired. He greeted them with a nod as if he had already accepted their arrival before they stepped into his home. 

“I wish to write a letter to my wife,” he said. 

They nodded as the boy next to them tensed.

“And my daughter.” 

Qokirie immediately stood. His wings flared slightly as he muttered an excuse and left the room. 

They didn’t question it. 

The old Quibblet explained everything. The attack. The hunters that were greedy for their magic filled feathers. The home that was lost, the family that had to leave a mother and sister behind.

They sat before him, their quill poised. 

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── 

In another room that seemed like a world away, a little girl shoveled food into her mouth, forgotten utensils sat next to her plate. Laughter filled the room with gentle warnings to slow down, it's not going anywhere, be careful. 

Water filled a tub, a touch of skin turning it brown. Rinse, drain, fill, repeat. Over and over until peachy hair turned a warmer pink with a body that's 3 shades lighter. 

A brush combed through hair, getting through thick tangles and mats until it glides through like a bird discovering freedom. 

New clothes cover skin and bones, an old shirt fitting like a dress on her frame. 

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── 

Then, they began to write. 

As ink touched paper, the air shifted. Small droplets of water formed from nothing, rising like mist before drifting together. They shimmered in the air, tracing shapes, memories, matching the glimmer of their freckles, before swirling down to the page. 

Water held memories, holding onto the past better than anyone's brain ever could. 

They wrote of unsaid goodbyes, of a love never lost. Scenes of tears, laughter, guilt, and anger showed them glimpses of a life they’d never seen, so minuscule in the grand scheme of time. Yet so big to a few individuals.

When the final drop absorbed into the paper, the letter was sealed. Unchangeable. Unbreakable. 

“The Moon has heard your voice and it shall be delivered to its final resting spot.” 

They placed the letter in their bag, nodded once, and left.

 ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── 

They weren’t sure why they hesitated when they saw the child. 

At first, they didn’t recognize her. She sat on the couch, sipping water with a small, satisfied smile. Bávlá and Qokirie sat on either side, talking to her. 

She was clean. Her hair was brushed and tied back in a loose ponytail with a band. A white band that had a single tawny feather hanging from it. 

They acted on instinct instead of action and listened, observed from the shadows. 

“It’s one of Qokirie’s feathers,” Bávlá explained. “Quibblets give them to people they trust, like how Elves or others give names.” 

The child blinked, wide-eyed. “But… I’m human.” 

Qokirie frowned. “And? You haven’t done anything wrong.” 

The child looked between them, hesitant, as if waiting for the joke. But Bávlá just smiled, flicking the feather lightly. “Besides, he can always grow another, and I can always craft another tie.” 

They inhaled softly. They weren’t sure why, but they turned and left the room.