Trickery #7
The nest is below you and you unsheathe your claws, angling towards the twisted twigs at a shallow, carefully measured dive. Your wings fold in closer to your body, but not completely - for balance and a more cautious descent - the soft feathers brushing your fur lightly, like fingertips trailing over a lover's skin. As if you have been flying since birth, you alight gently on the nest, the tree rocking under your weight; it is a testament to the harpies' skill in constructing their nest that it does not collapse beneath your paws. You're very glad that it doesn't fall to pieces, as you do not want to destroy their home...just take a few things, you reason with yourself, trying to shake off the uneasy sense of guilt in your stomach.
The 'eggs' are captivating, though you wonder if it really is possible for a harpy to hatch from one. Then again, if they are mythical beings and there is really a genie that can change men into animals...anything is possible, you conclude, staring down at the glowing ovals. How could these be eggs? They are beautiful, like rubies cut from the finest veins below the earth's crust, perfectly formed into these faceted eggs... Mesmerised, you lean closer, balancing precariously upon the very lip of the nest.
"Those are ours!"
The screech comes from behind you and you scramble around, a guilty expression flashing across your face. What you can only guess is a harpy is streaking towards you and your eyes open wide at the strange appearance. The harpy has the head and chest of a woman, crowned with a halo of brilliant, blonde hair, the remainder of her body like that of a bird of prey. Cruel talons tip her narrow legs and she screeches more furiously than ever, more harpies rising from distant crags, swooping towards you at a frightening speed.
"Get away from them! They're ours! They're ours!" The harpy shrieks, diving at your head and raking her talons through your hair. "Get away! Get away!"
Yowling in pain, you shake off the trickle of blood that runs down your scalp, reaching down into the nest to scoop up as many of the eggs as you can. But your paws are too ungainly for such fine work and they keep slipping back on to the twigs as if they do not wish to leave their comforting circle. Tipping forward, you swear under your breath and almost overbalance entirely, managing to regain your position by a stroke of unbelievable good luck.
The other harpies are much closer now, uglier than the first; their ugliness, however, could be because their faces are twisted and contorted with hatred, all of them coming for you like hounds chasing down a fox. Yanking the satchel from your back hurriedly, you push three of the ruby-red eggs under the leather flap. No time to tuck it securely closed - you leap off the crook of tree branches, leaving the tree swaying below as if buffeted by a storm. Your wings spread and flap instinctively, the motion far more effortless now than it was before, when you first tried to fly. As the harpies whirl and streak after you, you have good reason to be very grateful for this.
"Bring them back!" The harpy at the head of the flock cries out, pain lacing her voice as she fights the still air to catch up with you. "They are ours - bring them back!"
"I'm sorry," you shout over your shoulder, pulling your tail sharply away as a black-haired harpy lunges for it. "These will help me escape. I can get out of here, with these."
Cawing in anger much like a crow, the harpy achieves a sudden burst of speed, screaming and clawing viciously at your back. You cry out in pain, wriggling and twisting in midair to shake off the harpy; her spurt of energy is lost quickly, however, and she falls back into the cluster of her sisters, all of them crowding around one another and keening loudly, mourning for their lost eggs.
"You'll never get out, never get out," they chanted as one, hovering in a small, tight group, giving up on the chase. "You're lost, lost, just like us. You're lost and you'll never get out."
Written by Amethyst Mare on 05 July 2012