Chapter Text
The morning wind bites into you, frigid as always in this time of year. You're holding a reel of sturdy wood, anchoring a lifeline to the kite hanging far above. Even in the cold weather, you perform your weekly ritual, letting this blue kite out into the sky above the Central Park Reservoir. The white string sways ever so slightly, sweeping in slow arcs over the water.
"Hi..." calls a voice, clear and tinkling like wind chimes. "That's a beautiful kite you've got there."
You glance back to find a tall and furry woman, with soft antennae bending in the breeze. "Thanks." you answer, surprised by the sight. Your tall stranger is a humanoid Arctic moth, with caterpillar eyebrows and white, fluffy fur forming a scarf around her neck. Her wings are wrapped up in her long coat, but you can see their bottoms barely peeking out from underneath.
"The lake must give some lovely breezes for flying." she comments, somewhat wistfully.
"Yeah... I come here every weekend and the wind is always here."
Something brushes your leg, and you jump as if shocked. It's just her massive coat, blowing in the breeze.
Her laugh rings out, loud and musical, stilling the lake's choppy surface. It was worth being surprised just to hear it.
"So... do you make your own kites?" she goes on.
"W-well, this one, yes, I made," you answer. She raises an eyebrow in amusement and you elaborate on your hurried response. "A friend and I made this one and I've had it for a long time. She moved away, though." you add, saddened at the memory. "But this is the only one I have."
She nods, processing. "You know, I used to love coming here in the fall." she smiles. "Have you ever seen this lake with hundreds of people crowded around it, watching kites soar through the sky?"
You tell her you never have.
"It's a shame. People just don't do things like that anymore. I'm glad to see someone carrying on the tradition."
You angle your head slightly. "If you don't mind me asking, ma'am, why do you love kites so much?"
A smile creases her thin face again. "It's something of a custom in my family. I've been flying kites since I was a kid. For me, a kite... it means home."
You smile softly. You can empathize.
"Though," she smiles, "I haven't flown one in quite a while..." Although you can hear the genuine tinge of nostalgia in her voice, you're pretty sure she meant it as a gentle request.
You glance at your own kite. Though you'd love to help her remember her childhood days, there's no way you're going to risk getting this kite wet, or worse, lost.
"Want to build one?" you ask.
Her wide eyes fairly light up. "A kite?" she asks, excitedly. "I'd love to."
"I don't know how to make them, actually." you confess. "But I'd love to learn, if you'd teach me."
"I would be happy to."
You soon find out that Jane, as you learn she is called, is quite the master of kite-making.
Indeed, after the second week, when you first visited her apartment to hammer out the basics of cobbling a messy, basic kite together, you notice a childlike joy growing out of her with every hour spent on the project.
By the fourth week, she felt you were ready to take on a more complicated project. Together, you planned out a rough design. As the light frame began to take shape, Jane begun telling you the stories your work dredged up; one about sneaking fruit from a neighbor's farm with her sister, and giving her a hurried piggyback ride through a mud field to make good their escape after they got caught. About the time a powerful gust of wind plucked her brother off a bridge by his kite and hurled him bodily into a nearby lake.
Stories and chatter formed the fabric of the kite, and your friendship grew with the length of its tail. Before long, the shabby mass of materials on Jane's apartment floor had taken the shape of a serious project.