By nightfall Vaara was feverish, shivering and sweating on the litter, trapped in restless slumber. She would murmur occasionally, but her words were garbled and intelligible. They had stitched together a blanket of sorts for her, their combined donated clothes a patchwork of cloth under Asil’s needle. They needed to make it to the forests, they knew the plant life there, could forage for herbal remedies if only Vaara could make it that far. It was still days away, and the outlook was grim. Bia had offered to interrogate the witches, to see if she could coax out what local medicinal foliage there might be nearby. Objo could see her talking with the shorter one from where she sat next to Vaara, a cooling hand on her forehead. She was surprised it was the shorter one, Temero, that was offering, the young girl Nevin and the tall witch Jin had seemed the more open to the harpies, from what she had observed. But perhaps the hope of mercy was loosening Temero’s tongue. It was a futile hope, but she wasn’t about to tell the witch that.


    Bia and the witch set off, presumably to look for phytomedicines under Hrae’s watchful gaze. They returned soon after, arms full of greenery, Temero showing Bia how to process the herbs on a flat stone by the fire. They made a poultice for the wound itself and some strengthening broth, Hrae insisting firmly that the witch try the medicines first, before she allowed them to be administered to Vaara. ‘Shhh, it’ll be ok,’ Bia hushed the delirious harpy as she propped her up, gently tipping the broth between Vaara’s chapped lips, ‘drink this, you’ll feel better soon.’ Objo wasn’t so sure, she hadn’t looked at the wound, but had seen Asil’s face pale when she had changed the dressing. It might already be too late.


    The next day did seem to see Vaara improve, her fever hadn’t yet broken, but she was less agitated in her sleep. Iloin too, seemed bolstered by the strengthening broth, and seeing how much better she was they had fashioned her some crude crutches, though Asil made her promise to return to the litter if she felt too tired. ‘And don’t try flying! You aren’t yet strong enough to land on just one leg.’ she cautioned.


    Stolen story; please report.


    It took them a while to realize that Vaara hadn’t made any movement. It was unclear how long her soul had left her body, how long they had been traveling with her empty corpse. Bia had been distraught, they all were. But Bia was delicate, and shared a kinship with Vaara that Objo couldn’t understand, both of them being flightless. Atzi rested a hand on Bia’s shoulder as she sobbed next to Vaara’s cold body, her eyes closed and so so still. ‘She was getting better! Her fever was going to break and she was going to recover! It’s not fair, why did Nemia not save her?!’ Atzi looked pained, but made no response. Objo couldn’t tell if she agreed, or was merely holding back on account of Bia’s grief. ‘Was it the witch? Did she poison her?’ Daich asked, looking down at her fallen sister. Bia looked up at her, anger and heartbreak on her tear soaked face, ‘you are so spiteful! Our sister is dead! Let me mourn her in peace! I tried the medicine, Iloin tried the medicine! Vaara fell to her wounds and you are busy with blame! If you want to blame someone, blame Zsa Zsa for injuring her in the first place, or Nemia for forsaking her! Not the ones who tried to heal her, you spiteful, vicious hag!’ Daich looked taken aback by her words, ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, cowed, turning away.


    They decided to rest for the rest of the day, and send Vaara off with full rites that night. Objo and the others collected fallen branches for her funeral pyre, and flowers to lay on her body. Objo wished they had been able to make it to the forest, the flowers here were lovely, but she would have preferred to send Vaara off with more familiar blooms, ones that had meaning to her. Traditionally poppies from the volcano’s entrance would be included, to guide her soul home to Nemia. What message would Vaara make of the orange blossoms she held, she wondered.


    Bia insisted on moving Vaara herself, only allowing Atzi to help. They gathered around, the witch trio lurking in the background, as Atzi and Bia lit the pyre. Flames built quickly, petals curling in the blaze until Vaara’s serene face was once more visible. Atzi stepped forward, one of her golden feathers, a primary one from near her wing tip in her hand. ‘Fly free, little sister,’ she said, lighting the feather, letting it smoke before placing it into the flames, ‘let the smoke from this fire take you finally into the sky.’ Bia sobbed, lighting her own feather next, her own words whispered, out of even Objo’s hearing. Once she had placed her feather, she pulled out a flask, drank deeply, then poured the rest on the fire, the flames hissing with the addition of volatile fuel. Objo followed, placing her own feather. ‘It shouldn’t have been you,’ she whispered, her feather going up in smoke and ash.