I wrote this story around very young age of twelve. I revisited Westward Wings when I was fifteen and edited it, but fifteen is still very young. I'm sure I'll say the same when I return again in another five years. This time, I returned to Westward Wings for an Introduction to Creative Writing course in college. I adapted the piece for our transformations assignment (transform a popular plot, myth or fairy tale and make it yours) and then spent a great deal of time on it for my final entry. I thought I might as well put it online, because I finally can say I'm starting to be proud of it. I would greatly appreciate any feedback. Though I have no plans to follow a career in writing, I have become incredibly attached to this story and would love to continue improving it.

Enjoy!

Westward Wings

Sprawled on the ground, the woman stirred. Blinking blurry eyes, she pushed herself up, gazing around in confusion, and pushed some golden hair absently out of her face. Standing slowly, she almost toppled backwards. Craning her head around, gray feathers met her startled eyes.

Interesting... She thought to herself as she worked her aching neck, pulling her head toward her stomach, where she froze in surprise. Breeches, a shirt, and boots, all in hues of a soft, forest green, adorned her lithe body. Utterly baffled by her unfamiliar and absolutely strange addition and clothes, her eyes continued wandered to the ground, where they observed lush, deep green grass almost to her knees in a perfect circle around her.

How odd. Raising her head from its stretch, she froze again with a sharp gasp, realizing that she had no idea what was going on. Shaking off her helpless feeling, she meandered to the edge of the faultless circle, and saw rocks and sand outside.

To the east sprawled a huge sea. Gaping at the huge expanse of water, the woman suddenly wondered how she knew which way was east, but not who or where she was. On a frustrated impulse, she leaped into the air, her wings catching the breeze immediately. How remarkable, she mused, unable to be more than amused that she was flying. A strip of beach caught her eyes and instinctive adjustments allowed her to soar toward her chosen destination. Flitting over to the edge of the water and landing with little grace, she dipped a finger into the clear blue and licked the digit apprehensively. Grinning, she cupped the fresh water in her hand and took a small sip. Her throat suddenly dry, she gave up on the slow method and dunked her head, greedily taking great gulps of water.

Sitting back with her toes in the water, she soon became aware of sharp pains in her stomach. Something moved under the now still water. As if something was controlling her, she leaned forward and expertly shot her hand into the water. Again surprising herself, she withdrew a squirming and writhing fish. Still following subconscious directions, she rose and strutted over to a flat rock.

She placed the fish on the rock, sadly watching its writhing slow. Perturbed that her instinctual directions had vanished, her hand brushed against a long, thin object, strapped to her belt. She looked down at this new discovery, which, she realized with a start, had also been hampering her ability to sit. Irritated, she pulled at it, trying to move it out of the way, as it kept digging into her side. Finally, she pushed it away in disgust, and a shimmering metallic object slid from its case.

Baffled, she held the long object up to the light and saw two edges. She hesitantly touched a finger to an edge and let out a loud yelp. Quickly pulling her finger away, she popped her finger into her mouth and glared at the shiny object. Her glare dissolved into a devious grin as her impulses kicked in once again.

Removing her finger from her mouth, she wiped a streak of harsh red onto the pristine green of her shirt, then grabbed the handle with both hands. Lifting the offensive item with a determined glower, she swung it down hard, severing the fish's head neatly. She sliced it down the middle, letting her instincts kick in.

This is really all too convenient, the woman's cynical side whispered.

The remains of the fish beneath her grimy fingertips caught her attention. The bones were piled neatly off to the side and the tender, flaky meat sat waiting for her. Quirking her head, she snatched up a white sliver and brought it to her lips. Though the fresh fish tasted somewhat odd, her stomach grumbled and she quickly downed the firm flesh. As she ate, she came to three realizations. First of all, she had absolutely no idea who or where she was or what was going on. Secondly, she possessed frighteningly good reflexes, razor-sharp weapons, and the random ability to prepare a raw fish in mere minutes. And lastly, she had wings. Though she had no clue as to her identity, the woman knew instinctively that her feathery appendages were not in the realm of normal. Satiated with her full stomach and mental conclusions, something far to the west drew her attention.

The sun was rising over the lake, streaks of red receding as cobalt conquered the sky. Back to the fiery orb, she began to run toward a dense wood, her wings fanning out behind her. Impulse again had her bound into to the sky, her wings catching on a current of air as she startled a flock of starlings out of a tree on the forest edge.

Westward.

She landed outside a village, stomach rumbling again. Fingering the strange metal pieces in her belt pouch, she strode hesitantly down the road, the dust clutching her boots. As she entered the village, the hair raised on the back of her neck. No villagers lingered on the streets. A shutter slammed closed above her and she heard the bolt shoot home.

Rounding the corner to the main square, sounds, smells and color struck her like a gale. Carts bearing fruits of hues from the deepest green to blinding orange rested between stalls flaunting bits of cloth of iridescent purples and virulent yellows. The vendors and patrons were even more garishly adorned, maroon tunics clashing dreadfully with trousers of glistening teal. The women were even more extravagant as their dresses had been meticulously embroidered in multihued designs. Just as overwhelming as the vibrant shades was the cacophony of sounds. Advertising their wares in encouraging cries, the traders were nearly masked by the patrons' bellows as they haggled and socialized. Her mouth watered as a gust of savory scents washed over her. Frightened yet curious, she ventured forward cautiously, unnoticed as yet by the frolicking villagers.

A fruit-seller glanced up to see an oddly dressed stranger looking hungrily in his direction. This particular stranger just happened to have wings.

A scream tore from the startled and frightened vendor, echoing around the square. The man's scream cut off as he fainted. A shocked silence held the crowd for a heartbeat as all eyes jerked toward the sound.

The entire village panicked. Everyone began shrieking and running every which way. Vendors grabbed their goods, mothers their children, and everyone else raced screeching down the street away from the intruder. A stand collapsed under the riot, crushing its blue awning as baked goods rained to the ground, raising small puffs of dust.

The winged stranger jerked a surprised hand up to her cheek and felt a drop of water beneath her eye. As she began to uncertainly wipe it away, a voice came up from below her.

"Wings." A small boy, maybe five summers old, stood before her. Innocence brimmed in his bright blue eyes as a wisp of blond hair blew across his nose.

"Excuse me?" The stranger jumped at her own voice, not having realized that she could speak.

The boy blinked happily, one tiny hand twisting his cerulean shirt as the other pointed at her, and repeated, "Wings!"

"Wings?" The stranger repeated, and rewarded the boy with a kind smile. Then shout bordering on a screech rang across the deserted fair.

"Billy!" A woman sprinted out from a building bordering the bazaar. Her red apron caught on the toddler's foot at she scooped Billy up, cradling him to her cheek. The boy's mother completely ignored the stranger, crooning the boys name.

She stepped forward, encouraged by the boy's response, and asked the woman, "Is my name Wings?"

The wind blew the remnants of tears off her face. Tears had again raced each other down her cheeks when the woman had struck her in terror. The mother had then screamed for the men to defend her child, but they had arrived too late. The stranger had already leapt back to the safety of the blue sky at the woman's panicked call, prying a squeal of delight from the toddler.

The flying girl's thoughts returned to what the toddler had said.

Wings...She thought in wonder, my name must be wings...

Wings pushed the mother's unpleasant reaction from her mind and smiled slightly, content with the knowledge of her name. She turned slightly and soared, as always, straight toward the sunset.

Westward Wings.

Squinting slightly through the harsh draft, Wings peered at the winding path she had followed for hours. As she flew further west, the road had widened and solidified into a dark, hard material as the concentration of travelers had increased. Many groups had wagons and some even had men clad in similar scarlet tunics armed to the teeth with items resembling the shiny one on her belt. Often, clusters on the road would glance up and, upon seeing a flying woman, cry out in terror and run off into the surrounding woods. This reaction to Wings' very presence often brought back echoes of old tears back, but she would shake off her loneliness with the comfort of her name. Soaring architecture soon loomed in the distance. Famished again by the long flight and emotional upheavals, Wings pumped her wings faster, fascinated by the sheer magnitude of the city.

How can so many people live on top of each other like that? Wings wondered, then chuckled to herself as she realized that the sounds, smells, and colors at the village fair would be an ant beside this elephant.

Circling the sprawling city, Wings gazed below her in awe and drank in as much as she could of the pure energy. However, a blemish in the animated activity drew her eyes. Near the center of the urban congestion and adjacent to the largest structure lay a sea of lush, green grass, spotted with small gatherings of trees. Spiraling down toward the peculiar and comfortably out of place expanse of nature, Wings observed pearly white horses frolicking in droves and occasionally a lone stallion accompanied by a human. Shying away from more rejection, yet still driven by impulsive curiosity, the woman spotted the least populated area and, with a twitch of grey feathers, glided toward a grove of trees. Instantly she relaxed, as this felt like the perfect decision. But, the judgment of perfection did not originate from her mind; it radiated from the grove.

Shock registered on Wings' face as she recognized the presence emanating from the grove. This was what had drawn her west. Her body froze as trepidation made her hesitate indecisively. Unfortunately, her wings stalled too, nearly causing a head-on collision with one of the grove's trees.

Clawing slightly to regain some height, and perhaps composure, she hovered over the pines, mistrusting this unknown, silent presence. However, an unexpected imperfection amongst the trees caught her attention. A closer, though still aloft, inspection revealed a small clearing with a quaint tower at one side. She drifted down, alighting cautiously on a branch and waited, another one of those annoying impulses informing her that something momentous was about to occur.

But nothing happened.

She waited and waited, until she finally could not stand the suspense any longer. Throwing all remaining care to the wind, she drifted down and landed lightly on her toes. Peering doubtfully around her, Wings wrinkled her nose in dissatisfaction, impatient but faintly relieved that nothing would occur.

And then, something did occur.

A white shape flowed from the dense underbrush. Wings tensed, ready to leap to the air and safety, but her muscles locked against her will. The specter gracefully paced toward her and paused facing her. Wings gaped as she slowly came to terms with the fact that she stood nose to nose with a white horse.

Suddenly free of her bonds and she made as if to turn away but then she met its big, sapphire-blue eyes...

Something inside Wings cracked, shattered into a million pieces, blasted apart, and then imploded in a burst of warmth, love, and acceptance. A click echoed through the depths of Wings' mind as connection, clarity, and compassion vanquished every trace of loneliness and her soul connected irrevocably with another's.

:My name is Ria,: a ringing voice exalted in Wings' mind, :And I Choose you! You are mine forever! Let me give you back your past...: Memories, complete with sound, smells, and colors, flooded Wings's mind. Echoes of a thousand-year-old magical cataclysm ripping across the land, tearing circles of earth from where they belonged and warping their contents into rabid, wild, changed creatures. She gasped, frozen by the onslaught as troubled circumstance morphed into personal sorrow. While hunting vicious animals that had ravaged their village, her family had been decimated by a pack of change wolves. And she, the lone survivor, had fled the rabid monsters after losing her sword and then sensed that a surge of powerful energy was rising.

A wave of change circles! What horrible effect will they have on me , her last lucid thought had torn through her mind and then—

Flinching away from the emptiness of her ordeal, Wings realized that the change circles had not distorted her into a horrible change creature, but that they bestowed on her the gift of wings which had enabled her to reach a place where she belonged. She rode the waves of memory, plunging her head and gulping the waters of knowledge even more greedily than she had eastern sea.

Adella.

Triumph pulsed through her mind as her true name echoed in the combined voices of herself and her new Companion. Throwing her arms around her equine soul mate, tears once more trickled down her cheeks. Though these tears were of joy, sorrow clouded the otherwise perfect moment as she flashed back, without Ria's aid, to a blue-eyed boy and his terrified, protective mother. As much as Adella would love and be loved by her Companion, Billy's innocent yet unintended gift of a name would resonate with her for the rest of her life.

Stepping back from the cherished embrace, the changechild gazed intently into the mare's azure eyes. "Adella Wings," she stated with conviction, "is my true name."

Whickering what could only be a pleased chuckle, Ria bobbed her head before nuzzling the wet streaks with her soft nose.

:Well then, Adella Wings, welcome home,: the soundless voice resounded in her mind with just as much sincerity. A small bubble of elation burst through the winged woman's lips as she threw her arms around her Companion again.

Westward, my Wings brought me home.

Thanks for reading! Have an amazing day.