They organized the next afternoon with Atzi’s approval, after a late morning lie in recovering from the previous night’s delights. Atzi was even more appreciative than Objo had been, complimenting Asil on her findings. Asil preened at the praise, her violet chest feathers puffed with pride. Objo smiled at her fondly; Asil was a personality that thrived with commendations. Heading out, the flighted birds leading the way from the skies, the grounded birds following their lead.


    They traveled steadily for several days, their dedications to Nemia giving them supernatural resilience, allowing them to travel without rest for weeks at a time. It was not the hardest pace Objo had ever set in her own hunts, but it was grueling. Once the volcano had finally disappeared over the horizon and they entered the deserts, they reached the edges of the witches’ territory. Spiked skulls decorated with brightly colored feathers marked the boundary as they left the deep forests of their home. Objo scoffed at the slight. They could pretend all they liked to be predators, but both groups knew the reality, and the witches were not the apex. Viline, however, eyed the display nervously. As the smallest harpy, and one that hunted with temptation, Objo supposed she was the most endangered by the witches, and one to whom the warning would be most sinister to.


    They made camp some distance outside the witches’ sacred village, the central hub that the many roaming tribes returned to for ceremonies. It made sense that this would be the site for a celebration for their whole wandering nation. Objo had flown over several times, but had never hunted from within its walls, too worried about the attention she might garner, though her hunting style was not unsuited to navigating the short structures. When she was still an owl, untransformed, she had hunted within the forests, her wings silent as she swept among the trees. She could do the same for the buildings within the village, but there was less cover for her, and she wasn’t willing to risk attack.


    It had been a long time since she had been a true bird, rather than the mighty being she was now. It had been a long time since Nemia had called for her. The god had seen into her heart, how she longed for a more meaningful life. A life where her hunts were not just for food, but towards a larger goal. The god had offered her to become something more, something mighty, so she had lept at the opportunity. She wondered how the others had been called, but it was a taboo subject, too personal to share, a sacred pact between god and acolyte. Objo felt slightly ashamed at her past self, how eager she had been for power. She had been an ambitious bird, with lofty aspirations. She was more humble now that she had found her place in the world. She could cringe now at the folly of her youth, even if it had led her to who she was today. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ‘What are you thinking about, so seriously,’ Imita asked in her lilting voice, sidling up to her where she sat at the edge of their encampment, staring at their soon to be prey. Objo hummed, considering whether to answer truthfully. ‘Before, when I was just a bird. I would never have guessed that hunting would be more than just for sustenance. I knew something was missing from my life, but I couldn’t pin down what it was,’ she finally said, bordering on the private topic. Imita was quiet for a moment, considering. None of the birds talked much of their time without Nemia, their devotion to her outweighing the importance of their life previous.


    ‘I don’t remember much of my time then,’ Imita finally replied, her voice hushed, so as not to disturb the others who had settled down to wait for night to arrive. Objo peered her from the side of her eye, uncertain if the other harpy was telling the truth. Imita looked at her, her eyes guileless, a self-deprecating half smile on her lips. ‘It probably sounds untrue,’ she said, as if aware of Objo’s inner thoughts. ‘I suppose maybe it’s because I wish to forget. It was hard, before Nemia. I had a son,’ she quieted, turning away from Objo to face the village, her words fragmenting as she choked them out. ‘He was so lovely,’ she continued, her voice soft, ‘such a beautiful voice,’ her voice cracked. ‘I can’t, I can’t,’ she whispered, shaking her head, unable or perhaps unwilling.


    Objo turned her head, allowing the other harpy some privacy, the intimacy of what she had already shared overwhelming. ‘It’s why I took these tail feathers, despite them being those of the males. I wanted to remember him. To honor him, even in this small way,’ She turned back to Objo, a smile on her face, despite the faint sheen of tears in her eyes. Objo returned her smile, eyes soft. ‘Thank you. For listening.’ They sat in silence, watching the sun dip low, casting long shadows as it disappeared over the horizon.