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"I don't like this," Councillor Bronte pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders as their feathered guide lead the Elven crew deeper into the forest.
"You featherlesses are the ones who suggested this meeting, so you will come to us." The Harpy, Moira, turned around to face the councillor head on, all four wings fanning out in frustration. The party stopped. Zarina placed a hand on Bronte's shoulder, forcing him to take a step back. Sophie glanced to Dex, who was standing at her other side behind the two councillors. The guide tilted her head as she studied the four of them closely. Her wings folded in once more.
"And we pose no threat to your featherless kind, for now. You should hold more trust in those equal to you, Councillor."
The councillor in question opened his mouth to retort, and was stopped by his collegue. The two seemed to share a wordless argument before he looked down at his feet and nodded to Moira to continue onward. Sophie felt her brow crease in concern; she sent her thoughts out towards the boy beside her.
What do you think?
Dex jumped, but forced himself to stay quiet and composed, he shot Sophie a terrified look.
I think we're all going to get eaten.
Riverendale, the capital of the forest harpies, typically only spoken of in legend, was said to lie at the heart of the forest they were currently traversing through. When a small crew of Emessaries had reported to the Council they'd met a Harpy themselves, a creature so illusive to the Elven race that many doubted it's sheer existence, they'd eagerly jumped to learn more.
And now that curiosity will cost us, Bronte chided himself inwardly.
They walked in silence for the lasting duration of their journey. Sophie could feel her feet beginning to blister by the time Moira stopped dead in her tracks. Both councillors nearly tripped trying to avoid running into her. She turned on her heels to face the Elves, wide eyes with black seclaras, enormous wings with unimaginable power, wild hair and a towering stature. Everything about their guide scream danger to their senses. All four Elves steeled their nerves.
"We are here." This, only Sophie may have caught, for the Harpy did not speak it in enlightened, as she'd courteously been doing for the majority of their trip. Sophie watched as Moira shifted on her feet, seemingly trying to rebalance herself. She recalled what the Harpy had said upon their first meeting.
It is with great displeasure that I have volunteered to lead you all on foot. The sensation of my weight on the ground is an uneven, treacherous feeling.
Sophie looked up to see Moira pluck a large feather from one of the smaller wings on her back. She looked at all four elves expectantly. They all stared back.
"Ah. Right. A strand of your hair will do."
Each Elf snapped back to life, quickly pulling strands of hair from their heads; Sophie fought the urge to tug out an eyelash along with it. Moira collected each hair from the group, painstakingly tying the fragile strands around her own plucked feather. She stood, the adorned feather in hand, and smirked at the ancient councillor, before dropping the feather on the ground, right in the center of the small circle the party had formed. Sophie looked down at her feet as the ground began to tremble. A faint glow sprouted from between the brush. Dex's eyes widened.
"Oh, fu-"
His remark was cut off by a scream as all four Elves and the lone Harpy we shot up into the canopy. Moira quickly spread he wings, only requiring a few flaps to gain more altitude. The four, very much flightless Elves were less capable. Trunks, branches and leaves soard past them as their gain gradually slowed. Then there was a very short, painful drop.
Sophie rubbed the back of her head as she sat up. She certainly hadn't fallen back to the ground, the floor she rested on was hard and even. She looked between her three companions, all slowly getting up, trying to soothe their heads and bruised backsides. She then looked past them and gasp allowed.
The capital was unlike anything she'd seen in the Lost Cities.
Towers and domes, bustling market places, quaint home-like structures, fountains, falls, squares and statues, all of it suspended in the forest canopy, out of sight. Harpies flew to and fro, shouted at each other in the marketplaces, sold their goods, ate with friends, all with unique four-winged patterns, dark secleras and the same intricate, adorned clothing as the group's guide.
Her companions turned around, catching their breath at the view.
It's beautiful.
Moira landed gracefully, coming forward and pulling the four Elves to their feet. She smiled that same calculating smile.
"You all seem shocked." Zarina turned to her, mouth still agape.
"I. . . suppose none of expected this."
Moira scowled. "Expected what? Something incredible? Something sophisticated? Something beautiful?"
Zarina raised her hands in surrender, "I never said that-"
The harpy cut her off, "It doesn't matter." She shook her head, jewelry jingling together. "You concept of our kind has long been skewed. Our concepr of yours has been no better. I think it's high time we alter that."
Councillor Bronte looked at her for a long moment, before smiling a rare, Bronte smile. "I agree."
She looked at him, and smiled back, something more genuine, that showed off her terrifyingly sharp teeth. "Good."