Contrary to the business that the Fallen seem to be about when I first saw them, life in the Totara Pendent is actually not very demanding.

Kura really wanted me in the pendent, for some reason. Misaki onee-san brought me to Kura after our little walk around the pendent. Kura was already done with inspecting Taka-san's pendance. I asked Kura about everyone's 'sins', but Misaki onee-san sternly warned me that they generally don't talk about that in the pendent—it was enough that they knew that everyone was Fallen, and that Kura trusts them. That's it.

Kura, however, does know everyone's 'sins', the reason behind their Falling. At least the ones they truthfully told—Kura knows that some of them lied, but if she did not find malice, she would let them be. I just can't help but be curious; I've never talked to a Fallen before, after all. Even the Takamatsu Fallen I remembered was not somebody I knew personally.

Misaki onee-san also keeps avoiding my question. I don't even know which village she came from, and she refuses to talk about anything regarding her life in Kunoi Cluster.

I may have to start assuming that it's going to be the case for everyone here.

"Why do you want me here?" I ask Kura. As it turned out, she was the one who broke my Fall—I was lucky enough that Kotengu managed to slow me down again a few times, but the sudden change of air and the encounter with the monster were apparently too much for me to handle. At least that's what I think Kotengu tried to tell me. I can't be really sure myself, since he doesn't speak.

"Children," Kura says. "Kids, don't sin. Kids, don't fly. Adults, so kids fly."

Maybe she tries to tell me that adults are meant to help children fly? Probably.

"You," Kura points at me with a toe from her right foot, "don't sin. Done nothing wrong." She looks at me with those pure-white eyes, the same eyes as the monster of that red moon's night ... except that Kura's face is definitely nowhere as monstrous. I never really paid attention to her before, but under her long, silvery, unkempt hair, beneath her long fringes, right around those shining eyes, is a very kindly face with real motherly love. I feel like I've seen that expression before. I don't remember where and when.

No, really—when was the last time I saw someone, anyone, look at me like that?

"No children have ever been hatched here," Misaki onee-san says. "And there isn't another person of the Claws here for her to nest with. This is my first time seeing Kura meet a child!"

In her own broken, mismatched way, Kura tries to explain how it is with the people of the Claws. All the pendents, all the emotional groups of chance that they build together, are entirely voluntary. They don't have leadership, they don't have anyone making decisions for everyone like our village chiefs—everyone comes together because they know each other, and because they love each other. Children are also had by choice, and reared by everyone in the pendent, regardless of mothers. To Claw mothers, their children are everything. Who raised them mattered less than the fact that they all get raised, properly, caringly, and with love.

Like the winged people, they also tell stories. They speak. They have their own tongue. They have tools to hunt with, legacies for their children; they come together as families and live like villagers, even if they don't live the exact same ways we do.

I'm not sure whether the Fallen who live here have also learned the language of the Claws, since Kura showed that she could learn Kunoi. I'm personally interested in hearing more, but the rhythmic tapping that Kotengu gives my skin every five minutes or so keeps reminding me that there's something that I need to do.

To that end, I did end up getting more acquainted with the Totara Pendent fields. They don't really have tripvines terrorizing their fields the same way they were all over our plucks—maybe tripvines just don't grow in this stratum, I don't know—but they have other vines there. Unfortunately, those vines just don't really function the same way as tripvines. They're much less rigid, they dry up much more slowly, and they aren't as strong when being forced apart. They're more ... what's the word for it? The juhi had that word, um ... fibrous, I think.

Misaki onee-san tells me as much. After we finish talking about the people of the Claws with Kura, she takes me back to the fields, with the sun finally passing the zenith and the winds dying down. She shows me the bushes that surround the vegetables they grow—there are strand-like things surrounding the leaves.

"These are webvines," she explains. "We use these to make our fabrics—our clothes, our curtains, the tarps over our heads. When we need sheets of things that can safely stretch, we use these."

But I don't need something that stretches.... "What about something strong? Something that doesn't stretch?"

I don't think I can explain to her what a sling is. However, Misaki onee-san doesn't ask any more questions, and instead simply takes me to her pendance to answer that.

After letting me in, she just nods towards her window. "Watch this," she says.

She pulls on a rope, and suddenly her curtains close on its own. I gasp. She grins.

"Amazing, huh?"

"How did you...? Wait...."

Is that rope?

She seems to notice that I've realized what she wanted to show me, and smiles as she tugs on that rope again. The curtain opens right back on its own.

"Yes, this is rope," she answers so naturally, as if she read my mind. "For ropes, we don't use webvines. Instead, we first extract the inner barks of these plants—" she goes to her table by the window, showing that she had laid out numerous thin stalks of the plants I saw growing by the shrubs on the fields, "—and we make knots with them. Then we tie these knots up into knots, and again, and again until they're thick enough. After that, we roll them together until they're strong, and we make long knots with them one last time."

I don't recognize those plants, but I remember the process she just described. "Isn't that how we made ropes in the Kunoi plucks? By using the inner barks of ... um ... linseed?"

"Yes! Very similar to that!" Misaki onee-san beams up. "These plants aren't quite linseed, but they seem to be a more ancient kind of the same. They work just the same, so we use them just the same. Does your village produce linseed, then?"

I shake my head. "No. Someone from Kunoi Village comes around sometimes with things made from linseed. The food tastes weird."

She chuckles. "Well, my village used the linseed for a lot of things. I'm more or less good with it. I can teach you, if you want."

I've learned to sew myself, I almost answer. I stop, though. Sewing is something I learned to do by myself because I had to. There are many women who are good at sewing in Takamatsu Village, but since our village doesn't produce threads—like these linseed inner barks, or the webvines Misaki onee-san just showed me—we don't have dedicated clothmakers. Nobody in our village really mastered the art of sewing, and I've long wondered why the seams in our clothes always look more ragged than when we bought them.

Maybe there is an art to sewing that I don't know about.

If Misaki onee-san comes from a village where they are taught that art, why not? Maybe I'll even stand to learn something.

"I'd love that," I say. Misaki onee-san melts into a sweet, beaming smile.

"Alright," she says. "I will teach you to sew. But first, let's eat lunch, shall we?"

*

Kura made it a habit for everyone to gather together when eating meals. It's somewhat similar to the familial meals that Takamatsu Village does, and I hear that it's the case for everyone in the Kunoi Cluster—every family eat their breakfast and dinner together, and lunch too whenever possible. The children usually don't eat lunches with their families since they'd still be at school during those hours, but they eat in class with their friends and teachers.

"It's because we can't fight while we eat," my father used to say when I asked why I must always eat with my family. "All other families do it, too. By not fighting, we have no choice but to be good. By being good, we love each other. So, we must eat together."

I could think of numerous ways to fight while eating, but knowing my father, I decided to not answer.

He's definitely wrong. Eating together did not make them love me. Eating together did not make Gekka love me. Eating together did not make my classmates love me. If everyone still hurt me just the same, then what's the point?

However, Kura's reason was very different.

"She misjudged a person once," Misaki onee-san says as she mixes some plant ingredients into a large, black pot. "Well, not misjudge, maybe, but one person just went crazy one day. He keeps disappearing, taking people's things, and doing ... just bad things. Kura killed him once she caught him, but she's been making us all eat together since."

She does this to monitor everyone. I think her idea is somewhat similar to my father's: when eating, we aren't meant to fight. In other words, we become weak. And when we are weak, we don't try to act out.

Forcing everyone to be together when eating forces everyone to be weak together.

That, and the added merit of having everyone within her eyesight, made shared mealtimes very important to Kura.

... now that I think of it, maybe my father was thinking the same thing, but he didn't want his answers to be too harsh for me. Not that it made any difference at this point, of course, but Misaki onee-san's explanation makes me think of that for a moment.

Since the field isn't really a good place to gather around—with the wind weakening and the sun still high up even past zenith, it's as hot as a sparkwave firestorm—everyone gathers in the clearing amidst the totara thicket. There isn't so many people here that the clearing is too full, but there's definitely enough that just circling the opening once isn't enough to seat everyone down. They all seem to just naturally take their places on the ground, though, so they're definitely used to this. Me? I just stick with Misaki onee-san throughout the way. I keep forgetting that she's Fallen. She's just so warm.

The Totara Pendent doesn't seem to have any form of fireway. Not even a rudimentary one, any simplified form of what we had in Takamatsu Village. I don't know where they got their fire from—it's just that the moment Misaki onee-san takes over cooking duty, the fire has already been lit. Is there a firehouse nearby? I don't think there is, but I may be wrong.

Everyone has their own bowls. They also have the mashing spoon utensil, similar to the one Kura used to feed me medicine. Misaki onee-san gives out everyone's portions, and Kura joins us last—she first gives a portion to me with her own bowl, and only then does she fill up her own.

I thought she would then sit down and join the others, but no—instead she uses the fingers on her wings to hang onto a large branch on one of the trees overseeing the clearing, using one of her legs to hold her bowl, and using the other to hold her spoon. Then, as if cued, everyone claps together twice—ah, this one I've seen at home. I clap along.

"This, I shall partake," Kura says.

"This, I shall partake," everyone echoes.

"I shall partake," I say with them.

It's a small Kunoi tradition. My parents insist on making us say that before we eat. It reminds us that we are partaking, that we are simply joining a chain of things that happen until the food lands on our tables and brought into our mouths. We are making this food part of us, like how the people who make this food become a part of us, like how the people who worked hard to provide these ingredients become a part of us, like how the plants and animals we feed upon become a part of us. When we partake, we are joining them in a cycle that will keep connecting. We partake, and we remind ourselves of it.

Unlike the family meals, this habit was drilled into me since before I could even remember. Unlike the family meals, I never end up fighting this one back. I still do this almost by reflex, although my emergencies these past few days haven't really given me the chance to remind myself of it.

This, I shall partake.

And thus I shall eat.

So we eat.

The taste is serviceable. I don't know what Misaki onee-san put in this, and I don't really know what kind of food this is, either, but it's mostly savory, like most vegetables, with a good hint of saltiness. Nothing overwhelming, nothing strong. My mother had cooked something much stronger than this, but after the mysterious fruits and the mysterious medicine, I have to admit that tasting something more subdued like this feels much more refreshing than I thought.

"Who hod yu vad?" I try to ask Kura while chewing on a spoonful of my vegetable mix. Kura tilts her head at me a little.

"Swallow."

I swallow. Gulp. "Who taught you that?"

"Taught what?"

"Those words. The 'I partake' thing."

Kura smiles, and eats a spoonful of her meal. "Everyone."

I wonder if there are similarities between how the Kunoi winged people live and how the people of the Claws do. So far, I've only seen differences. What if there are similarities that make it easier for Kura to imitate our habits?

Again, as if reading my mind, Misaki onee-san shakes her head. "No, no such thing," she says. "Her culture is very different from ours. We bow to the same Tree, but that's it."

Does that mean Kura studied our habits entirely on her own? By herself? Just to adjust her habits so that the Kunoi Fallen can live more comfortably here?

Kura continues her meal, unbothered.

"That's amazing," I murmur. Misaki onee-san gives an agreeing nod.

"Kura-san may be a woman of the Claws," she says, "but she's the Broodmother of the Fallen."

Apart from this communal meal, there's nothing particular about after the meal itself. We give our thanks for the meal, and go about our own ways. Some of the Fallen continue tending to the fields. Some decide to care for their hygiene and go to the nearby potfruit thicket and wash up. Others decide to make cloths and knit, which reminds me that Misaki onee-san promised to teach me sewing.

So that's what she does. In fact, that's what she does every day. When I'm not sewing with her, I take another walk around the Pendent, remembering where everything is—the potfruit thicket is important, but so is the dropping hole since there are no dirtways here—and trying to at least memorize the faces who do the important tasks. Who cooks lunch? Who cooks dinner? Who sews every day so that I can ask for advice? Who tends to the ingredients I like on the field?

What does Kura do with everyone? What is Misaki onee-san's schedule like?

Occasionally, I'd have Kotengu check our surroundings to see if any threat arises. To my surprise, after two days of staying here, he still finds no hint of any wild animal coming anywhere near the pendent. Is Kura too strong or something? Wouldn't this make it difficult for her to hunt? I remember Misaki onee-san mentioning that people of the Claws hunt their meals. How does Kura get by without meat?

Another day passes.

Kotengu starts finding me fruits similar to the ones I used against the lapwing, which should mean I can practice as soon as I remake my sling. Misaki onee-san finds my fine work impressive, apparently, or maybe she just wants to encourage me. I'm not sure. Either way, she praises me a lot, and I'm happy. It makes me want to work harder in sewing. As if to answer that, Misaki onee-san starts teaching me new techniques: different knots, different ways to tie threads.

Another day passes.

The new knots Misaki onee-san teaches me start growing in difficulty. She also starts teaching me to make my own needles and knitting rods—which really is just hours upon hours of sharpening a small piece of wood, except that she also teaches me that there's an art to picking which woods are good, to the way the woods are dried, to making the shapes that best fit my needs ... it's woodwork but without woodworking tools, frankly.

And another day passes.

Misaki onee-san starts teaching me to make small ropes. She makes me use the knowledge I've learned in knotting and knitting, instructing me only when I start making mistakes. Otherwise, I am left to my own devices to figure out what to do based on her broad instructions. In the end of the day, I barely managed to get one small strand of rope done, but one small strand of rope is still one strand of rope. There's still time to get better.

And another day passes.

I do get better. I decide to start working on my ropes much earlier than my sewing lessons yesterday, and even Misaki onee-san is surprised to find me already working in the sewing pendance before anyone else arrived. I finally get a proper rope done, one that looks passably neat, and after testing it with a swing and a snap, the rope doesn't seem to break. I think I did a good job.

And yet another day passes.

I start losing track of time. Kotengu realizes that I wish to keep sewing until I can do what I want to do, so he decides to just bring me water on padded leaves every time I feel thirsty. Misaki onee-san has stopped instructing me, as she says I've mastered all the basics, but I ask her for one new thing: what if I want to make a smaller strand of rope within a bigger strand of rope? As in, what if I want a rope to be split into thinner parts, but only somewhere in the middle? Misaki onee-san seems a little surprised by the question, but she promptly teaches me the answer.

And yet another day passes.

Using the separation technique, I finally complete my first product: no, not the sling. Instead, I made a small rope belt, but with smaller strands in the middle of the belt.

What are those smaller strands for, you ask?

I carefully slip each fruit Kotengu brings me in between the smaller strands. One, two, three, four, five, six. The belt can help me hold six fruits.

With this, I can free my hand. I can use it only to load a fruit to my sling. I can use it to hold on to something. I can use it to climb. I can use it to throw a fist and fight.

This time, I can leave holding the fruit to my belt. Kotengu can keep seeking new fruits for me to sling, but I don't have to worry about keeping a few of them with me—in the case Kotengu needs some time, I can still fight and defend myself.

And another day passes.

I finally start working on my sling proper. Misaki onee-san makes no comment about my fruit belt, and she has no idea what that's supposed to do, but she decides to ask no questions. Kura comes by to see me knit and sew, and she seems happy enough that I have something I like to do here. I start creating the strands for a larger rope, because my sling this time must be strong. My tripvine sling was made with very limited materials under very limited time. This time around, I get the chance to sit down and really think before I start making my sling, so I do.

And another day passes.

My thick ropes are properly coming into shape. Each cord is now almost as thick as my tiny finger, which is the thickness I'm going for. Given the strength of linseed fiber, I'm pretty confident in the strength of this rope—fruits like the ones I use for projectiles shouldn't be a problem at all, and maybe I can even use it as just a typical rope in emergencies. I start cooking up an adhesive with the plants nearby so that I can create the padded leaf section of the sling.

Another day passes.

My sling is complete.

I ask Kura if I may leave the Pendent just for a little bit because I need to test something. She decides to agree, but only if she comes along. I see no problem with that.

With Kotengu leading the way, I find a nice spot, a good little clearing where there's a decent distance between me and a large tree that seems to be a good target practice. I load the first fruit from my belt onto my sling ... ah, picking a fruit from between the strands feels slightly more challenging in practice.

And with the fruit loaded, I start to swing.

Round, and around, and around.

Oh, wow. This rope is definitely heavier than the tripvine strings I used. However, it's also sturdier, remarkably so. I somehow feel confident that this thing won't snap on its own. It just feels that reassuring.

Round, and around, and around.

The swinging feels a bit different from the tripvine sling. Maybe it's because the sizes aren't precisely the same? I can't be sure. However, the sensation of the fruit trying to leave the sling is still exactly the same. Will my previous aim feel still work?

Round, and around.

I aim on the tree in front of me, and I think back to the sensation I felt when I released the sling upon the great lapwing's wing joint.

Round, and around.

Something ... like this.

I relax one finger, and the fruit promptly disappears from my sling.

SHEW.

The disappearance of the fruit is followed by a very loud whistle slicing through the air, going straight from me towards the tree, ending with a—

BAM!

A very loud impact, followed by a fruit breaking into pieces on the surface of the tree I targeted. The crash was also quickly followed by the sound of flapping wings, countless of those, as smaller birds that seem to perch on the tree all flew away from the shock.

Hmm, seems like the feel of the shoot doesn't change much.

The fruit also flies as fast, if not faster even, compared to the previous version of the sling. If the previous is already good enough to break the joint of a lapwing, this one should do just fine to help me defend myself. I mean, it scrapes off a good chunk of the surface bark on the tree I shot. Oh, and it seems to also leave a hole, if my eyes don't fail me. That's a lot of crushing power in such a small package.

"Kotengu!" I call. The raven perches on my head. "Another one of those fruits, please."

And some more, I add. He seems to get it.

I try again to pick up another fruit from my belt—this time, it slides more smoothly out of the strands. In one motion, I slide it into my sling as I start to swing.

Almost missed, but I got it there. A few swings later, the fruit is right on the dead center of the padded leaves.

Round, and around, and around.

I aim, feeling the weight of the fruit and the length of my sling ropes as the fruit attempts its escape.

Round, and around.

I hasten my swings.

Round—

I release.

SHEW.

BAM!

Kawk!

Almost entirely by reflex, I catch a fruit falling from the sky and load it directly into my sling, starting my swing right away. I think I'm getting the hang of this.

Round, and around, and around.

Aim....

Round, and around.

Release.

SHEW.

BAM!

One from the belt, into the sling—

"Child."

Kura's coarse call snaps me out of my pace. I turn to face her—there's very visible worry on her face. The softer feathers on her wings are standing up, making her seem so big and frizzled, even with her hunched posture.

"What ... that for?"

Very carefully, she points at my sling. Kotengu drops another fruit that I catch again by reflex—Kura flinches a little.

... and I just realize that I developed a weapon in front of her. A weapon that, as I just showed, I can wield—a weapon that can help a twelve year-old wingless girl break whatever she wants at a distance with just a little practice.

I can feel my sling turning light. I suppose the fruit just falls from its pouch after a few seconds of not being moved.

Kotengu flies in circles above me.

Kura still waits. The warmth in her expression hasn't gone, but there's definitely more wariness in there now.

I look at her claws. Those are big. If all people of the Claws look like her, then their legs are way thicker than a winged person's, and those legs end in sharp predator claws the size of my fist.

"I need to protect myself," I carefully answer. Then, before I know it, the story just flows—how I've been treated in the village, how only Amane nee-san and Tobi nii-san would play with me throughout my childhood because only they could be patient enough with a wingless baby, how Gekka accidentally knocked me off when she first learned powered flight, how my classmates started picking on me after that, because apparently the only thing stopping them was the fact that I lived with the Takamatsu family, and seeing Gekka knock me off means a Takamatsu girl said it's okay to hurt me.

How my teacher was at a loss because the first few kids who did get punished for picking on me only got angrier, along with their angrier parents, causing even the older people in the village to raise their voices at me when nobody's looking. How nobody would come near me after that. How nobody wanted to play with me because I couldn't fly, but they can all play together with me if they get to laugh at me. How Gekka eventually joined them because she wanted friends more than she wanted a wingless sister. How Amane nee-san and Tobi nii-san both had to leave the roost for their coming-of-age ceremonies, and I was finally on my own.

About how my parents didn't know what to do after my teacher told them. They tried to hide it from me, of course, but I find it hard to sleep for a lot of nights since my classmates started picking on me, and I overheard my father and my mother exchanging angry words. How my father apparently blamed me for missing their chance to move to Kunoi Village, for some reason. How my mother couldn't say a word back to my father with each and every thing my father started blaming me for. How Gekka apparently took that as an okay for her behavior, making her pick on me more at school.

How I had to escape all that and found out that the articularium was the only place I could feel safe in my own village, and only because it was guarded by a very snappy Hallkeeper who wouldn't let anyone make a noise—the articularium is a very important place in all Kunoi Cluster villages, apparently, so they are protected by Cluster laws and Hallkeepers represent the capital, Kunoi Village. How I had to make it a race, every afternoon, from my pluck to the roost, from my school to the articularium, before my classmates could catch me.

How I practiced fighting by reading tablets and watching my own shadows. How not even my own house felt safe to me.

How I was dragged to the Precipice, fought back, and Fell.

How I had to survive a great lapwing attack.

How I Fell a second time because of the monster.

When I was finished, I find myself panting for breath. Kura's feathers have settled back, which probably means she no longer feels threatened.

"So, yes," I say. "This is a weapon. It's meant to hurt. But I need this if I want to survive. I don't have wings. I don't have claws. This is the only way I can fight back."

Kura's expression changes. I'm not sure what that expression is—her jaws are slightly slack, but not to the point of opening wide. Her eyebrows are a little burrowed together. She sharply inhales, then returns to her usual posture.

"You can fight," she says, "but can't fly. So come."

She turns and starts walking. Well, she's the Pendent leader. If she asks me to come along, I come along. It's that simple sometimes.

Kura doesn't reveal a new place to me or anything—she takes me back to her pendance, the place I've been staying in for as long as I'm in this pendent. She shuffles around on the far corner a little. It's a corner I don't often go to because it's dark, but Kotengu did sometimes go there since he likes to hide himself in the darkness—it perfectly fits his jet-black darkness.

Kura takes out a few sheets of cloth. There's a rather thick fold of what seems to be a blanket, an oddly triangular fold with a beautiful pattern on its borders, a folded sheet of ... I'm not sure what that is, but it has patterns that look cut. Now that I think of it, this pendant is full of people who can sew. Is this due to the Fallen? I honestly doubt that; the patterns on Kura's cloths don't look Kunoi. Do the Claws sew? Is this what their culture looks like?

Now that I think of it, how much do we know about the Claws?

With a final shuffle, Kura finally pulls out a specific piece of cloth from the pile.

Unlike the other cloths, it only has patterned embroidery on one side, along its boxy vertical edge up top. Everywhere else, and along its edges, are huge grayish feathers, stuck everywhere on the surface, as if the cloth is supposed to be a large wing.

... no, not quite. That cloth is a wing. Or wings, to be more precise.

It's a cloak, but with feathers.

"He korowai tene," Kura says. "This is korowai. Cloak."

Hmm. So it is a cloak. "Korowai?"

Kura nods. "Adult makes korowai," she says. "Kids, don't fly. Adults, so kids fly. Adult makes korowai. Korowai so kids fly."

Is she saying that this is what the Claws use to teach their young to fly?

Adult makes korowai.

I look closer at the cloak. The room is slightly darker in the corner Kura's in, so the colors look a little off, but there's no mistaking it: that size, that shade of gray? Those are Kura's feathers.

Adult makes korowai.

Kura made that korowai.

Kids, don't fly. Adults, so kids fly.

Adults are meant to help kids fly, because kids don't fly. They can't fly yet. Adults must help them. Adults must teach them.

Adult makes korowai....

"How does it work?" I ask. Kura smiles and hands the cloak to me, opening the thing, then gracefully hooking its patterned boxy edge around my body, resting the cloak on my shoulders. The edge snugly hugs my body. I try moving my arms—to my surprise, it doesn't come off, as if it likes to stick on my skin. It also doesn't block my movement—I can still freely move both my arms. The entirety of the cloak covers most of my body when I let it droop and rest, but it opens right up with my movement, making sure it doesn't get in the way. Neat.

"Come," Kura says as she leads me out the pendance.

This time, she actually does bring me to someplace new. She takes me on an upwards climb, across higher and higher branch of the Tree, until we can oversee the entirety of the Totara Pendent. And she takes me to climb yet higher. As expected, the korowai doesn't get in the way of my movement, although I do have to get used to the feeling of its weight on me—not that it's heavy or anything, I'm just not used to having something so constantly covering my skin.

A cloak. Huh. It's somewhat similar to my blankets at home, just not as warm. Is this what having wing covering feels like?

After a little bit more climbing, I start feeling dizzy. "How much further?"

"Little. Here."

Kura offers one foot while she uses the other to perch, and I take it. She helps me up with her robust claws, bringing me up to her level, a whole new height for the Pendent.

"Look," she says, spreading both her wings. The wind blows, as if by her command. I'm not sure how far above the pendent field we are, but I can see the entire thicket and the field. I can barely see the Fallen ... oh, I can, but they just look so small. So ... tiny.

I close my eyes. The breeze feels nice.

"Why do you want to show me this?" I ask. Kura smiles at me.

"Spread your wings," she says. "Fly."

My feet suddenly lose their standing.

It happened in a blink. I feel a soft, but very certain push on my back. So certain, so consistent, that my body just naturally follows the direction of the push—right off the ledge and off all footing.

I did not even get to realize the whooshing on my ears when my body speeds through the air.

Next thing I know, I'm already falling.

I can hear my own heartbeat on the top of my head. I can feel wind breaking on my face, slapping with the force of ten thousand hands. It vaguely sounds like a noise makes me feel almost deaf—is that the wind? No, that's my own scream. I think my body flails around, like it did when I first Fell—

Jet-black shadow.

"Kotengu!" I call, almost in pure relief. "What do I—"

Grey shadow. Now that I'm not familiar with.

Kura dives right next to me, her bright hair flapping everywhere behind her. Her wings are folded.

"Spread your wings!" she exclaims. "Fly!"

Slightly irked now. "I don't have wings!"

"You do! Korowai!"

Korowai.

Cloak.

Feather.

Is this what having wing covering feels like?

... no way. No way it's like that.

One deep breath. The more time I spend hesitating, the closer I am to the ground. I grab the hems of the cloak, turn myself to face down, and prepare for the worst—

And I hang.

I can't describe it any other way. I hang. In the air. Maybe floating is a better description. The cloak suddenly hardens, as if it only remembers that it can do that, and catches the air.

... I'm floating. In the air.

"Fly!" Kura says excitedly. She flaps once, then turns left, bringing herself to fly in that direction. I try flapping the cloak—ah, nope, it relaxes.

"Whoa—"

I open the cloak again, bringing it wide, and it hardens right back. So, no flapping. Got it. I try shifting my weight to the left, twisting my body a little. The cloak obeys—I start veering left.

All the way to the ground, I start learning to lean and shift my body. The korowai is nice and easy to navigate. I still haven't gotten a full grasp of what else I could do with it apart from floating, but this means I can actually get in the air.

I can fly.

Beyond that, I have wings.

I chuckle. Then I giggle. Then I laugh out loud, and the noise Kura makes seems to be something similar to a laughter, since she has the biggest smile on her face.

Kotengu flies surrounding me, cawing only very softly, and I can feel his joy bursting in my head.

I can fly. I can fly!

Kura takes me on a few more rounds. She takes a dive too close to a tree—she manages to dodge, but not me.

"Aah!"

My legs move before I tell them to. My left leg hits the tree, followed immediately by the right, and I take one, two, three, four quick steps sideways. I soon leave the tree I nearly crash onto, getting back to my flight, now with momentum in the right direction.

Okay, maybe I can't fly. I can float and mostly control where I float, though.

What about turning? Something sharper and quick?

What about getting to the air?

... but hey, this is already big enough as is. I can feel my head exploding with ideas. I know what I must do next.

Not long afterwards, I land with Kura just outside the totara thicket. I just can't wait to start using the korowai—

Rope. Rope, I need a rope. A strong one. A light one. Something I can roll over my belt and—

I also need some way to roll all that rope quickly and—

I also need Kotengu to grab me more fruits and—

I also need some really strong wood and—

I need—

I—

Kotengu doesn't even perch on my shoulder or arm. He just flies directly to where I'm going to, because I'm running across the thicket to the sewing pendance with Kura right behind me.

For the first time in my life, I can't wait to see tomorrow.

*