"Go out into the world and die!"
The taunts and screeching voices from above drew nearer the Bird, his wings beating franticly to gain speed, altitude, anything to get away before they reached him. Perched on rocky crags around the mountain, brightly coloured heads bobbed as the voices chased after the outcast, fleeting like angry sparrows. The more he fluttered and bucked around them, his pattern eratic and weaving on the coiling updrafts, the more they seemed to slam against his frail body and beat him down. Circling across the mountain, riding a wave of insults, he wondered how long it was going to be before the first one of them took wing and came after. Not long, not long at all. iPlease, god, let me catch a wind out of here.../i
"Go die! Go out and die! Freak!" The voices of the others mingled into one overbearing screeching tone, coming from all sides. He fought the urge to coil his wings around himself and fall, freefall downwards like a child stepping out of the nest before it could fly. It would have given them such satisfaction, that wasn't what he wanted. It wasn't wrong to be like he was, it couldn't be. Dragons accepted it, every species accepted it except his own. The Birds, the frantic survivalists of the world wouldn't stand for relationships that couldn't continue the species line. They were the one of the oldest races and the most widespread...and they had become so by sticking to the strictest guidelines possiable for survival. The Bird children born with hands, rare as they were, were put to work for the others who could only use their feet. Organized breedings with other Bird subspecies kept variety...but homosexuality did not promote the species nor add to it.
Nobody had known before. Family groups weren't tight and loners, so long as they worked, weren't treated any differently from anyone else. But all it took was one slip of his own tongue during a conversation with another Bird late at night, and the next morning they were jeering at him from the craggy slopes, daring him to land while they sidesteped cautiously, heads lowered and wings folded behind their backs. Crests of feathers were fluffed dangerously, their golden sheen visable from a good distance away. Hundreds of the mountain dwelling Birds all tracking him with their eyes, claws clicking against the stones and scrubs. It was only a matter of time before they came after him now...
"Bird killer! Bird killer!" The chorus of voices was nearly drowned in the flurry of flapping wings as the golden tinted winged ones took to the air, their streamlined bodies whipping around the outcast and shattering the fragile currents of air holding him up. Spiraling between the other Birds, the flock moved erraticly together and apart, each of the others kicking with their clawed hind feet at the outcast trying franticly to break away. On the air currents they swerved away only to reform around him, their talons slashing through fabric and flesh. Flecks of blood began to spot the feathers and faces of the Birds as they ripped at the outsider, tearing him apart in mid air.
"Hands!" The frantic scream from the outskirts of the flock sent a shockwave of terror through the other Birds. Scattering franticly away from the outcast, the ruffle of feathers filling the air. Over the crest of the mountain pure white wings reflected light as the Hands cleared the edges of the horizon and came hurtling towards the scrambling Birds, screeching their own battle cries. The Hands, the break away Birds born with arms. The others knew the behavior, it was another raid. The Hands resented the Birds, refused to believe they'd been born from them. They called themselves another race, the Angels, and would kill anyone arguing otherwise. Felines, Dragons, Hedgehogs...Birds and Demons especially.
The two feathered armies collided in the air, screams cutting through the air that was seemed to soak the blood from their battle and run it across the skyline, the sun setting in a sea of red. His wings giving out under the strain, feathers torn and broken, the outcast lost his delicate hold on the air and faultered, wings coming together as he fell backwards, downward, the body of the young Bird artistic as he careened towards the earth.
The impact would have easily killed him, broken every bone in his frail body and left him twisted and forgotten. The Birds, as their society had been structured, would not have missed him. He was already listed on their records as dead...not the only one there this day from the way the fight was turning. The golden Birds of the mountain began tumbling downwards along with the outsider, his decent seeming almost slowed as the sun caught the droplets of blood from their bodies and reflected off their feathers, the air filled with falling golden bodies. It was such a long way to the ground, such a long way...
The taunts and screeching voices from above drew nearer the Bird, his wings beating franticly to gain speed, altitude, anything to get away before they reached him. Perched on rocky crags around the mountain, brightly coloured heads bobbed as the voices chased after the outcast, fleeting like angry sparrows. The more he fluttered and bucked around them, his pattern eratic and weaving on the coiling updrafts, the more they seemed to slam against his frail body and beat him down. Circling across the mountain, riding a wave of insults, he wondered how long it was going to be before the first one of them took wing and came after. Not long, not long at all. iPlease, god, let me catch a wind out of here.../i
"Go die! Go out and die! Freak!" The voices of the others mingled into one overbearing screeching tone, coming from all sides. He fought the urge to coil his wings around himself and fall, freefall downwards like a child stepping out of the nest before it could fly. It would have given them such satisfaction, that wasn't what he wanted. It wasn't wrong to be like he was, it couldn't be. Dragons accepted it, every species accepted it except his own. The Birds, the frantic survivalists of the world wouldn't stand for relationships that couldn't continue the species line. They were the one of the oldest races and the most widespread...and they had become so by sticking to the strictest guidelines possiable for survival. The Bird children born with hands, rare as they were, were put to work for the others who could only use their feet. Organized breedings with other Bird subspecies kept variety...but homosexuality did not promote the species nor add to it.
Nobody had known before. Family groups weren't tight and loners, so long as they worked, weren't treated any differently from anyone else. But all it took was one slip of his own tongue during a conversation with another Bird late at night, and the next morning they were jeering at him from the craggy slopes, daring him to land while they sidesteped cautiously, heads lowered and wings folded behind their backs. Crests of feathers were fluffed dangerously, their golden sheen visable from a good distance away. Hundreds of the mountain dwelling Birds all tracking him with their eyes, claws clicking against the stones and scrubs. It was only a matter of time before they came after him now...
"Bird killer! Bird killer!" The chorus of voices was nearly drowned in the flurry of flapping wings as the golden tinted winged ones took to the air, their streamlined bodies whipping around the outcast and shattering the fragile currents of air holding him up. Spiraling between the other Birds, the flock moved erraticly together and apart, each of the others kicking with their clawed hind feet at the outcast trying franticly to break away. On the air currents they swerved away only to reform around him, their talons slashing through fabric and flesh. Flecks of blood began to spot the feathers and faces of the Birds as they ripped at the outsider, tearing him apart in mid air.
"Hands!" The frantic scream from the outskirts of the flock sent a shockwave of terror through the other Birds. Scattering franticly away from the outcast, the ruffle of feathers filling the air. Over the crest of the mountain pure white wings reflected light as the Hands cleared the edges of the horizon and came hurtling towards the scrambling Birds, screeching their own battle cries. The Hands, the break away Birds born with arms. The others knew the behavior, it was another raid. The Hands resented the Birds, refused to believe they'd been born from them. They called themselves another race, the Angels, and would kill anyone arguing otherwise. Felines, Dragons, Hedgehogs...Birds and Demons especially.
The two feathered armies collided in the air, screams cutting through the air that was seemed to soak the blood from their battle and run it across the skyline, the sun setting in a sea of red. His wings giving out under the strain, feathers torn and broken, the outcast lost his delicate hold on the air and faultered, wings coming together as he fell backwards, downward, the body of the young Bird artistic as he careened towards the earth.
The impact would have easily killed him, broken every bone in his frail body and left him twisted and forgotten. The Birds, as their society had been structured, would not have missed him. He was already listed on their records as dead...not the only one there this day from the way the fight was turning. The golden Birds of the mountain began tumbling downwards along with the outsider, his decent seeming almost slowed as the sun caught the droplets of blood from their bodies and reflected off their feathers, the air filled with falling golden bodies. It was such a long way to the ground, such a long way...