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The raging inferno did not begin until I was gliding upon the relatively peaceful skies superior to the earth below. It had been many weeks since I had felt the exquisite, savage strength of the autumn storm, the freezing deluge that turned my wings to hardening clay, struggling to respond to the crafter's swift, nimble fingers, no matter how skilled they may be. At the speed I descended ungracefully towards earth, smashed and buffeted by roaring gods of winds, each drop of rain became a stinging whip upon my skin, bursting into being, and yet the worst was still to come on the fall morning. Lightning. Each and every hair stood rigid upon my skin, crackling with electricity, and the air throbbed with menacing power, the taste of ozone and thunderbolts upon my tongue. Soon, I knew, storm devils would crack their fiendish golden whips, and I would be thrown from the sky unceremoniously, to crack my fragile limbs on the soggy earth below, to be eaten by the dry soil turning to thick, heavy mud.
All too soon the wind that bent the treetops with pleasure had me spinning out of control, and I did wonder at my stupidity. Autumn was unpredictable; it was simply thick of me to fly so far from ground, where it would take a long, slow descent to stop me from filling my blood with unpleasantry. Even now, as I was thrown and caught like a toy by alternating hot and cool patterns, smashed downwards at lightning speed, I was frustratingly distant from the comfort of Earth's realm. "No," I groan, and heave back at my wings, trying desperately to shake off the rain. But the divine gods foiled me, instead dumping even more buckets of water upon me. Down and down I swirled, flushed out of the sky, and finally earth rose up to meet me. With great, painful effort, I arched my wings, ready to back-beat; the wind howled in my ears and the rain lashed at my face, sending me tipping forward once more. Desperately I leveled out, parallel to the ground, hoping to land in a swift gallop that would ease to walk.
But landings were always the hardest part of flying, even in the best of conditions.
I landed so hard I sunk, floundering to me knees, and so ungracefully spun onto my side, and when I rose, mud had lavished me with kisses. Unmeaningly I grunted, shuddering at the cloying feeling of it locking me into place, but despite my half-hearted attempts to clean my wings, the rain only drove the dirt in deeper. Finally I sighed, flicked my airfoils one last time, and glumly stared through the sheets of rain. Who knew how long this storm would last? Perhaps my best chance would be trekking back. Even when I glanced upwards, the dark gray, gormless clouds continued on forever.
I should've turned, immediately, and started back to the Throat. It was a long while on foot before I could reach the detested desert; but instead, I ran lightly to the few trees in this wide-open meadow, and huddled beneath their piteous shelter.
[tagged for Irrydae, but anyone can join! :D Just please don't hold back the thread!]
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