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So this is something I've been working on for about eight months, now. It's a five part survival erotica between BassyBefuddle and I about two lovers who have to survive naked in the forest after their city-state is attacked by extremist revolutionaries called the Kreeg. It's based on the comic Windborn, which goes under Bassy's ownership, and I recommend you all download the pdf of the comic. Without further adieu, here it is! I hope you all enjoy the first part of this absolutely massive project!

Bassy's Upload: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/53606022/

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Thick Thighs & High Tides

Chapter 1

Carved Out

(Part 5)

When the inferno came roaring through, there wasn't enough time to escape with our clothes. Five wingspans off the river where we held each other, the trees violently shivered. An eerie warmth carried suddenly in the Winds. We weren't quick enough. Fireflies fanned out and died: a trample of giant's footsteps, and then, a crackling fwip-fwip-fwip of orange death, arcing and thok-thok-thoking our shelter of twine and sticks to ashes. Our bones felt just as brittle as we huddled together, naked, waist-high in the dark river. A yelling voice as gruff as boulders screeched orders for the Kreeg soldiers to pillage our empty settlement. No bumpy ground was left unchecked. Every log. Every patch, showered in sparks and smoke. The rage we'd seen in tablets, words and threats, but never this. The brown feathers prickled on Gael's winged arms. And it was that moment when I heard him mumble the most helpless thing I'd ever heard a godlike figure say:

"Amara, are they here for you, or me?"

The truth is, I didn't know. If they found me, I'd just be a prisoner. If they found him, it could be the end of everything. Gael was the last of the avin who could fly, from a species thought to be dead: the Windborn. A movement that sudden would seal our fate.

They kept barking their commands. From a blind distance, it felt like a massacre. We were neck deep, now, heartbeat ripples in the water. A mixture of fear, helplessness and confusion made me silent. His whole body stiffened, long fingers squeezing my bare ass. Clutching. I held him tight, like I always had at home to remind him what those red eyes didn't see. I suddenly realized how he must've felt during the collapse of the Nigidesh, when all the rest of his species had vanished. How the Breezes howled just as cold and ran through every avin's soft skin until we realized it was truly all we had left. In time, it is the Breezes that make you understand how vulnerable you were from the start.

A nocturnal gleam of blue gleamed off their Kreegan leg guards, too close to the river's mouth. I gave him one last look to those crimson eyes, one last touch. _Now._And plunged headfirst together in the blackness. Lungs tight and brushing past strands of invisible film and grit, our fear was as palpable as our grip together. And it'd take the hand of Breezes' faithful arms to bring us up. Not until the lights above were all gone.

fwip!

To our left.

swip-fwip-shoom!

We windmilled our arms as death rained all around us, our bare thighs nicked, an arrowhead scraping past my hip. Random knives of pain scraped my feet, whisk off one of my talons. It's as if the current alone was sparing us one moment at a time. I twisted, rocked and roiled, and suddenly I felt a pang sink into my shoulder. I cried out and fell back, my right arm outstretched until the wrist was seized by a taloned foot. A knife of moonlight highlighted Gael's shadow: his arms glowed with amber for a moment before he snapped them to his sides, his body an M, the golden wing powers gliding us forward through the boiling rapids.

As time slowed, I could barely move, but the terrifying orange was growing dim. We had no clue where we emerged, but when we did, we were coughing and sputtering our lungs out on the banks. I brushed off the muck and flecks of pale scales. Gael tore out a piece of seaweed from his beak and with it wiped away the grime from his long dick. It waggled heavily as he helped me to my feet. Smelling of fish and blood, we scanned the silence, ears ringing and naked. I just wanted to feel him touching my vulva in the water again, tongues together for a brief scrimmage of warmth. The frightening thought came about: Gael's going to take off now, isn't he? It dawned on me that I could no longer defend him. I checked and saw him staring beyond me. A silent fear curved in his eyebrows. As if on cue, the pain in my shoulder exploded. My sight unblurred and I gasped at the arrow protruding from my shoulder. The Giran Guard taught us pain like this only hurts when you notice it. But when it happens...

"It's okay, it's okay," Gael said in that panicked, unsure drone as I clutched the skin around it.. "I can find some herbs. There's a common one that seals these types of-"

A quivering jaw is all that was left of that sentence. He could feel the pain in my expression. No. The pain wasn't what I cared about. When you've been in the Guard, you get used to it. No, the pain of loss, what I left behind--that's what was plaguing me. I hobbled up, silently. Gael didn't like it one bit. One arm limp, I searched the darkness for a tree with some semblance of moonlight off it. There: a clump of festering moss right by the roots. Good, I thought. It'll be useful. My good hand unsheathed a talon.

"Amara? Amara, come back."

I drew it down the bark, only scratching its flesh before Gael whisked me back with my good arm, eye-to-eye.

"Don't," he said with a grave, breathless urgency. "Please. It's too late for that."

My fists shook, the pain flashing my body in halves, but not from the arrow. It took every muscle to hold back my frustration at him. Like he could sit there panting in fear and not do the first thing about what's right in front of him! I closed my eyes and felt the tears seal the crease. His palm was the only warm thing left. Somehow, that felt like enough.

A rumble in the river, and a subtle gasp. Faraway cries. A cranelike shadow rolled around the corner. Over the blind overpass, one became two, became ten. Orange dot. Death whizzed over our heads and guillotined a thin tree to the ground like it was just bone. On instinct, Gael pushed off, spreading his wings to shield our silhouettes. We ducked, and five more objects flew above us, digging into the dirt, the bark, the moss. A barrage of whizzing air above us threatened a rotting skull with every single moment. Apana had warned me it's better to comfort the victims than waste your energy, but I never thought I'd see the day. We sprinted, chests heaving, and in a flash of sparks and heat, we fumbled, Gael crashing behind a boulder while I fell to the other side.

I shouldn't have looked. I shouldn't have found him like that. Chest heaving to hold back the agonizing screeches, pupils smaller than dots, claws and talons sunken to the soil, yet still shaking like the rest of his body. His teary eyes were looking upon himself in horror. Only a moment of confusion before I saw the river of blood from his right wrist riding all the way up to his armpit. The last embers teetered off the burnt flesh root that used to hold feathers and drifted into smoke, gone forever. A flaming arrow was snug into a nearby tree with two of his feathers, the rest littered in ashes. He ducked down with me as three more whizzed by. His right arm was now completely clean of feathers. No chance of a full flight.

I didn't know how to comfort him. It was too accurate of a shot to call a coincidence. And the longer he looked at his wound, the more his terror turned into anger. Back to the stony ire I'd tried to cram back beneath him. It'd take more than a back rub to stop this, now.

"They know you're here," I said, breathless.

"Yeah," he said. "You get used to it."

That's when he beckoned me to an enclave of bushes and brute forced his way through. That's when the rest of survival began, and the bushes blazing with teardrop flames behind us formed a door that closed forever. I could almost watch myself on the other side disappear into the canopy of branches, their wet leaves tugging my feathers. My mind screamed to plunge back into the fire, "Go back, go back", my tits brushing quickly against pure, bare nature and promptly rejecting the sensation. Every sense I had left in my body was screaming at me to challenge their fury. I felt like bursting into flames and making their spineless, black hearts one with the spiky, broken planks of their boats. My unsheathed claw scratched into Gael's wrist, but he paid me no attention. My own strength had never lied to me until that point. Every other moment, I could fight, steal, kill, talk, rip to shreds and bargain my last available possession for another chance at life. In the Giran Guard, I had done this a thousand times. I've learned from every loss. Every win was a gift, and a warning--safety was never an option. And it was only this moment when I truly, with every feather of my being, had no idea what was happening. No hope, no weapons, and no goals but to march naked into the heart of the Siroonian forest. So I held tight to that hand that guided me. It was the only warmth I had left.

(Part 1)

The low sun in the clouds overlooking Gira cried a job well done. Another farm day, another scab to pick. Atop our cliffside, I could see the dotting maze of houses and marketplaces of Gira quieting for bed. Tiles of wheat, corn and crops blanketed the hills for acres, and the shadows between two giants of land hid the sturdy, bamboo wall that kept us safe from the coverless fields beyond it. I turned around, and there was my home. A fixed roof--sticks, leaves and straw in a tapestry. Gael's an artist in his own right. He was climbing down from atop it in his dark brown trousers, lean and muscular from shoulder to lower abs. His biceps were bulging from their long day's use in the woods collecting food for the night, yet his semblance was casual as though he hadn't used them. He wiped the sweat off his brow and hadn't noticed his pants slip a little further down, the top of his pubes showing. I used to curl my hair back for a body like that, but he and I knew the ropes by now. Every night and every moment of spare time, he was all mine.

The last avin with wings-a Windborn, in my hut on the top of a hill, away from it all. If they ever knew that a member of a species who'd perished was still alive, they'd lose their minds. But they never would. Because we'd built a bond that couldn't be broken.

A nameless conversation always brought me where I knew I'd be: kneeling between his legs, his thick shaft in my hand swelling my tits on the spot. The strand of wheat I'd left in my beak fell free and startled me; he had a good chuckle, so I tied it around his shaft for fun. He was dominant at heart, but I still loved the submissive type, so he let me play with his cock as he recounted what he'd done. A crate of berries by the curtain, the resources he'd crafted in the side. Each word like a torch melting the ice away, until I was stroking with two hands and too hot to keep my top on.

"How were the fields?" he asked, not moving his gaze.

"Oh, you know. Hot. Dirty."

"Just like us, right?"

"Tsch. We're the fun kind, though. Less sweat coming from places you didn't know could sweat."

"Are you sure that's not just you getting turned on?"

"I gotta polish my,"--and then we laughed for ten minutes, because we're adults--"I gotta polish my talons, actually, they might be chipped."

"They're working you that hard, huh?"

"It comes with the package."

Face twisting, he shuffled his hips when I pushed my thumb into his head and circled it. I think that gave him the picture. Eye twitching like his length, his hand found my hand, thighs spread an inch further. That's the sign. I dove in and slid his cock into my mouth. Public sex has a habit of letting it all blend together. A dribble of spit down my beak, the lump in my throat growing bigger, the lost commotion of Gira made everything feel exposed. I can't not masturbate when I suck his cock: that girth in my throat made me want it inside me, pushing my hips out to feel that hot sun on my wet pussy and anus. Trees swayed with a new Breeze as Gael started bucking, his hips having a mind of their own, until I gagged and went back to stroking him, a long lick on his balls.

"I got something planned for us tonight," I crooned, stroking his cock. "Ambercinder mushroom dinner."

"N-never heard of those..."

"They are a Siroonian classic. Never been here if you haven't had one. Your tongue will be molten lava for weeks on just a taste."

"Heh, I'd still eat one whole."

"Not so macho, now. They're like bags of stinging powder. If you don't know what you're doing, you could sting your eyes. It goes up and blows around all over the air. Like you, pretty soon."

Another stream of pre rolled over my digits and down his inches. I loved getting him like that. All that work in the fields got me worked up to edge him until he lubed himself. I gave him fast strokes up and around his head and gave his balls a long lick. Grass blades pet my butt, always so sensitive with that cannon as big as my forearm pulsing in my two stroking hands. It leaked and dripped to my right tit. Now rock hard in every way, his message was clear:

"Hey, you know. You've still got those clothes on."

Time flashed, and they were in a pile by the door. Clasping each other's hands, I rode his dick right out in the open, the warm fields against his back. We'd gotten used to the balance-speed, technique, the _plap-plap-plaps_in a winding cataract with our airy moans. The way we had sex was always raunchy, always with the threat of being seen, but just quiet enough to avoid it. Bouncing on him transformed my body to a milking machine, my mouth salty with lust, nothing going through my head but a plea to go deeper, deeper, one more inch! My clit raged with pleasure whenever it nuzzled in his feathers; I felt my tits when I felt his head flare deep inside me. Windborn men had a way with sex that no other avin could compare. His genitals, bigger than any men I'd faced, had infinite stamina, and their touch pulsed gold through your veins. Like wind smashing my blood, I flexed my legs and came all around his cock as I always did, ass out to the whole town, the base of his shaft gleaming before my vulva slammed back down and rode him again.

I loved that half-eyed look on his face as our breath mixed with each other. That look of concentration and satisfaction whenever he felt me cum on him. I lowered down another inch, trying to take it all. When his head poked to my navel I felt him spew a little pre inside my walls, like squeezing a lemon with a fist. Circling my hips, I made that last longer. My clit nuzzled in his feathers caught him in a loop of wincing, holding the entirety of his gigantic cock hostage. It didn't matter. Again, my legs flexed, body trembling.

"Doing good, babe?" he hushed. I couldn't tell if he was taunting me.

"Mmph--came twice. You're so big. Let's switch up."

Leaning on the wall with my ass out was my favorite position. He knew I loved a good slow ride with his length sliding through my ass cheeks. I got a good view of Gira before he nudged his soft head around my vulva. Then he nudged and pushed--the first insertion's always left me shaking. And he railed me like it was the only thing left to do, the only thing we were built for. I felt like a warm rock splashing into a spring bath again and again from the hips he grabbed to the pussy he was stretching. The way he made love was magic, but the way he fucked could last a lifetime. Was it love, really? Or was it lust? Whichever it was, it flared my whole body, every touch like the first, dripping three kinds of fluids down my inner thighs as his dick kept nailing the spot.

"Ahh, Breezes, I'm gonna cum--!"

I pulled out and kneeled down to see his shock. I hardly ever let him do facials, but I've crawled out of my shell. His face clenched, beak shut, and when it half-opened, a steam of hot, sticky fluid blasted against my cheek, neck and beak! A cumshot so huge, it was a god making a river of its own! It ran down my neck in streaks and glazed my breasts, yet somehow there was always more. Gael's face clenched and unclenched as he kept cumming, his winged love in pulses. It was impossible not to lick it up for him. Because I knew coming back home, I was having sex with a legendary being, all day long. Living life as near-nudists, foraging the woods for natural food, fixing our own place. It was a miracle. The miracle of someone like this being yours, and yours alone. It didn't matter how they thought he was extinct, or pushing on daisies. So long as I could hold down the fort, he was here for me, my life, my song, and my body. Every day, I had a figure of the divine Breezes look at me and say:

"I love you, Amara."

"Are you just saying that 'cause there's cum on my face?"

"No. Yes. It's about eighty-twenty."

"Make it ninety-ten and I'll let you fuck my tits."

And that's the way our relationship goes. It's calming to hear someone who's like that, in a world where deception is commonplace. I thought having his huge cock at an ease of access would make life easy. The weak look in his slatted eyes as he soaked my chest, filled me, fucked me and gave me all he had. I couldn't have been more wrong. That's what made it all worth it.

(Part 2)

My legs were weak from last night. I always felt the worst part about fucking in public is the next day, when reality hits. Work isn't what kills it--it's decency. The work suit was a thick stitched overall of leather over a thin, red undersuit, and I don't think anything has made me itch worse. You'd think these rows upon rows of wheat were poison ivy the way they were always prickling up against me.

"Put yer back in it, girl!"

That was Farmer Denz screeching from the porch. Fixed with an evil, bulging eye and a permanent sneer, he was my general screeching commands. He's been tending crops since the day he was born, but never been recognized for it. An avin slightly less green than his crops who almost never wore a shirt unless Guidance Delma was near, in which case he'd pull out a slinking patch of threads. The only times he loosened up was when he'd show me how the workflow of plowing is done. It was all mechanical: pull the hoe this way, dig this deep, sew until from the hilltops the fields were all perfectly straight lines. Orderly and neat; something you'd never find on the battlefield. My hills never looked like his. Even his crops stood taller, finer dew drops and everything. Aside from that, he believes the Windborn were kidnapped by aliens. He also thinks they came from one of the moons. The Windborn, not the aliens. Anyway, I now have to work for him because in the dead of night I walked around naked in public and almost got caught by him, then actually got caught by our Guidance Delma. You never work for the title of "crazy", but I'd take it over "unforgiven".

Delma was the opposite of Denz, duck-beaked in striding green robes with the only gray demeanor that always comforted her subjects. She'd seen death, life, fear, anger and sadness and trudged through it in every possible way until she found peace with the gauntness of life. I've seen her talk avin out of suicide without flinching, settle conflicts as though she was present, and negotiate trades to keep every drop of peace in Gira. That's why she was our Guidance. She was holy in that way, never giving a perfect solution, but keeping peace. I aspired to be like that. Now, I'm not so sure.

Anyway, tilling the crops was important, but tedious. Nothing like harvesting the ambercinder mushrooms in the forest. Here, you only worked in the morning, but with them, you had to pluck late at night when the stem is reddest and the white speckles are most radiant. Dripping sweat, I gave one last check to the late afternoon field of combed earth, yet it was all lazy work--work that made me want to twirl and thrust the hoe like a spear in Giran Guard scrimmages.

Back in the streets, I saw a footman drawing circles in the dirt with the end of his spear. That pattern of yellow mixed with an orange feather on the cheek. That's a birthmark, right? Yarko had mastered the stiff blankness that pierced through armor faster than blades, though he'd always been tasked to sweep the perimeter. Had the type of voice that'd keep getting louder the more excited he got. He'd gotten pretty good at archery, but not with women, I learned. He was the only guy who was more direct than Gael; he'd always walk in with a washcloth tied around his crotch and state, "Hey, you wanna fuck?" I learned to like that forwardness. The problem was, he always ran off. He never felt attached to the guard, in a way. And so the longer I saw him there, the more I realized he wasn't supposed to be. His feet shifted. Nervous, I guessed. Like the last time he did his horny entrance, not realizing we were right outside Guidance Delma's hut. It wouldn't have been as bad if she wasn't bathing. Here, with Gira's casualness, something was off.

I shouted, "Hey! I thought you were working the outskirts," softening when I realized I was being irritating. "Can you answer me?"

"I'm not supposed to talk to you."

I said, "There's kids here. Giran forces don't patrol around kids."

He didn't answer. I took a stand and approached him. "Why aren't you answering me?"

"I can't."

No. He was trying to make me look crazy. What feels worse is not to patrol the outer fields and purposefully look dominant towards the agriculture section of Gira.

"Where's Orlan?" I almost said, Apana.

"Not interested in you."

Yarko never really knew who I was, did he? I'd let it go, for now. Come next morning, I'd get my answers.

(Part 3)

Thankfully, the guards outside his barracks recognized me. Apana said he was lost until he found me, and I think I see why. All too often he's been stowing himself away in the barracks and goes quiet. It started about a week or two after I found Gael (not that he knew).

At first I assumed both thought the jimpa business was bullshit, but the second I saw Orlan's face, I realized I was supposed to be here. A lantern lay in the center of a table with a map covered with red scribblings. Delma was there, too, stone faced and arms behind her back. I greeted them and took my seat.

"I've been talking with Delma lately," he said, exasperated. "We might have a pathway to let you back in."

"What? How?"

"It's a dangerous mission," he said, not looking up. "I don't know how to say this. I've never given this to anybody. I need you to be our messenger."

It was so surreal to hear. Messengers were no different from soldiers. Some said they were even more dangerous. Messengers were meant to run all across Avia to gather information from higher ups on current happenings and return. They've stopped wars, but the worse ones have nearly started them, they say. It was not for the faint of heart, and even now, many are seen as spies and killed on the spot.

"We need someone to spread the message that Gira is in danger," Apana said as though speaking to an untempered, blissfully unaware past version of his daughter. I hadn't the slightest clue how to feel.

So I asked, "This has to be a mistake, right?"

Delma shook her head. "It is not. We've consulted this thoroughly."

I said, "Gira's one of the safest places in the region. Why would anybody want to attack here? There's nothing we have that they want, whoever they are."

"That's naive and you know it," Apana said. "There's no one I trust more than you, my Nuni. You've been at the helm of the watchtower and had frontline experience; that at least gives you geographical awareness. You've taught others how to fight and inspired many in Gira to take up their own defense. Of all the avin in the Guard, you're the only one I can trust."

"What are you talking about?"

"Do you know about the Giran messenger's casualty rate?"

"Yes, one in every thirty. There haven't been any in ages, though."

The truth is, we haven't lost anybody in the past six months. I felt the stone on them creep up to me, calcifying me where I stood.

"We've lost seventeen this month."

Cold rushed through my skin. "Is this a joke?"

"I'm afraid it isn't," Delma said, matching coldness. "Dark days are ahead."

"What does Our Guidance have to do with this?"

"I appointed myself," she said. "Such manners are only appropriate to be reasoned with, first. In dire straits, there are no correct answers, but with impending actions, there may be a resistance in the works. If sacrifices of an avin's danger must be in place for sanctity, then I must agree on the basis of diplomacy."

"I was never trained in that," I frowned. Another day, and I slip another inch from her understanding. Watchtowers existed for a reason; I wish they had assigned me back there.

"Amara," Apana approached fast and held my shoulders. "Listen to me. Our soldiers have been disobeying orders. An anomaly like this only comes along with nearing dark days. You live upon the hill. Did you notice anything strange?"

My heart stopped for a moment. "They didn't come for me. I'd be dead. I guess they weren't-"

"-Scouting you," Apana finished. "You're the cleanest slate in Avia. No one will recognize where you're from, should you go out alone."

"He's right," Delma added. "You are also remarkable in your oral skills. The faster you notice who may be watching us in the outer fields, the better we can communicate it to the safety of Girans. Your first task will be to address neighboring city-states of Siroon of these happenings. As long as our Guard is more refined than theirs, they must be kept in close contact."

I was stammering, now. "I don't know. Mobility like that takes months to learn."

"You remember our talk on the hill, right? I hadn't told you one detail. Nobody is ever ready for life."

It wasn't like him. Nothing about this was. Yet he was still right.

"Okay," I nodded. "I'll do it."

But it wasn't relief on Apana's face; more like anguish. A curtain of shadow hung over us through the fading lantern.

Delma held his shoulder. "Perhaps in despicable bends, the shield is mightier than the sword."

Orlan didn't speak after that.

---

I needed that sunset. The deep shadows reminded me of a painting I saw at my Apana's house. It's still hanging, I bet--the one thing that hasn't changed.

Gael saw my expression and suggested we'd go nude tonight. Usually I'd disagree. This time we threw off our clothes and ran wild in the fields, chasing each other on the outskirts of the forest. I taunted him by spreading my cheeks, dashing while he was still flustered (it's practice, I promise). I kept teasing him for how he couldn't run properly with his third leg until he accidentally turned too fast and didn't realize the tree in the way of its swing. You would be surprised how fast we were over it from there.

I talked to him about what Apana said by the campfire. He seemed confused--Gael never thought much of family issues, in fact, sometimes I had to sit down and tell him why they're relevant in the first place. It was something that quietly aggravated me, so when I brought up how he made me strong, he told me that strength made me who I am, and that's enough for one lifetime. We'd eaten our Ambercinder mushroom-plant-bean dinners and watched the sunset atop of our cliff, our legs splayed out in different ways as I bobbed up and down between his thighs. "To be one with nature," he said. He just likes getting his dick sucked in public.

"Amara, Amara, I'm--", and he arched his back. Hot ropes burst into the sky, splashing my head, my face, my boobs. I rested on his chest, stroking his abs, his cock curving by his navel with the wet residue.

He muttered, "Thank you, babe. That was amazing, as usual."

"Mmm, well, I know your buttons by now."

Laughter. Silence.

"Hey, so, are things still fine with you and your Apana? I mean, I know he forgave you and all."

"Of course. It was never any bad. Just that he's concerned about my self image, what with the step-down and all."

"That's not what you told me."

"What?"

"You said he was supportive."

Oh. Right. He told me I was his purpose after I left the Guard. It was during a yellowish sunset--no, redder-I remembered how intense Apana's eyes were, even as he spoke softly. Even with Avia weighing on his back, he still found time to talk. We all learn to forget these amazing events when time passes. It's not a good look.

"You're right," I said, "maybe I just mixed things up."

"Well, I can tell you that I never get tired of looking at you." He idly played with my tits.

"Heh. I don't know. He's probably up right now, making battle formations and keeping the soldiers on their toes. One time he woke us all up at three in the morning to do two-hundred pushups."

"Even his own nuni?"

"Well, she was a soldier just like everybody else." I paused. "And then she wasn't." The moon felt like it was caving in on me. "And now..."

"No. No, don't say that. It's dangerous out there."

"It's not about the danger, Gael--if it was, I don't think we could even have this kind of relationship. It's like if you trained a jimpa to cart out a bale of apples every weekday. Whenever I wake up, I expect to feel some kind of panicky rush. I'm supposed to feel my arms burn at four from spear practice and be eating slop by seven. And it's awful, it's bracing, but if not that, then what am I doing?"

I couldn't pin that question on him. That wasn't fair. And sadly, it turned out to be the most relevant thing I'd ever asked.

(Part 4)

I never noticed until the last morning how much peaches look like sunsets.

A perfect one hung on the tree atop a hill. It slipped from my fingers when I tried to pick it and rolled all the way down. A kid found it at the bottom before I could even move. She smiled and ran away with it. I watched her go in peace until all that peace was silenced by a great shadow. Its darkness blotted out all color and overtook this land for acres. Once the child looked up, her smile was destroyed, and the peach fell from her hand. Confusion made my body limp. Slowly and reluctantly I looked towards the sky. What I saw could not be described as anything but pure terror in motion.

It was as if the sky itself was collapsing. A steely behemoth roamed, accompanied by a mountainous roar so low, and yet so feral, it was hard at first to tell if it was alive. The shadow of their ship overlooked Gira until the sun meant nothing at all. I saw some avin burst into tears and others retreat to corners, pick up their pitchforks, table knives; anything to stop what was to come. I saw soldiers pull up the gates and cry out as if they were sealing an open wound.

A faraway boom cracked my stomach--was it towards the walls? What's happening? Over the gate's mountains moaned the bottom of an ocean; the purple sky cut in half with metal shadows. That's when fire rained from the sky. A plume of smoke overhead made the heavy clouds look like boulders from trebuchets. All I had was the hoe, so I took it with me to the gates, and saw the rest of the storm. The rumbling steel-toed kicks, cracks and pummels could be felt for acres--yet here they were, right outside the drawbridge.

The gates were battered as screams from the outside turned to yelps of pain. Through the flashbacks I realized that Gira required backup that it didn't have. I turned and saw Yarko escort a family away towards the back of the village, dropping his spear so it wouldn't scare the two kids. The wall, which had kept us safe since Gira was born, was cracking right before our eyes.

They're going to find him, I realized. The only thing I could think to do was sprint back to the hut where I found Gael resting on the hammock inside.

"Get up. You need to go."

The grogginess hadn't left him until he read my expression, panicked and swiped his trousers on. "You're not serious."

"Either leave or hide, but you can't stay here! I'm serious, Gael!"

"Okay, okay, we can make it out through the forest if-"

"I'm not leaving."

"What?!"

"I'm fighting my way out, and they're not going to take you."

"Take me?"

Another violent smash. This time, you could hear the pieces topple. Gael looked like a ghost. When he slowly left the hut, I could practically feel his stomach drop. The confusion and terror I'd felt multiplied when he saw the airship. I could see the terror escape from every pore in his body, in shaking, convulsing pulses. A quick fall to his knees primed me to a battle position, but he'd fallen on his own, no arrows protruding. The airship's chains descended and swung their metal wrecking balls ahead, scattering the outer wall's innards to straw from this height. That's when he tilted his head back to me.

"No," he said, breathless. "You can't win this."

"Do you think I was in the Giran Guard for nothing?"

Now a winding hiss that rocked the land whisked a wave of hot air at us. Blades of grass tore up on their own. Black and red death littered the sky until the air was choking and ruined. They'd broken the wall, and it fell in a cacophony of falling archers, balls of fire and shards piling to nothing. As their forces flooded in, the screams collectively tingled down my spine until I could no longer move. The thought in mind flashed that Gael could be the one to stop this, but as the Kreeg soldiers climbed over the rubble they'd caused, I was doubting even that. Apana had predicted dark days. I had no idea--

Oh Breezes...Orlan!

Gael turned a shoulder. "We have to go."

"No."

He grabbed my arm, "Now! Now! We have to go!"

The ground left me before he even spread his wings. If it wasn't for his wind propulsion to drive us out, I would have never moved. The image of Gira in flames was permanently burned to my eyes and conscience. I dropped the hoe in midair, and felt nothing. Nothing at all.

He flew until the strength was all gone. All around us was the hiss, snaps and rustles of the Siroonian forest. We'd never been this far in. I don't think Gael even knew where he took us.

We ran until our lungs were raisins and seemed to get nowhere at all. A fallen tree made for a good sitting place to catch our breaths. "I'm sorry," he breathed, but I didn't know what for. There were no apologies in war; only decisions, actions, and outcomes. You'd be hard pressed to even get an explanation. And so I didn't think to tell him why I slashed my talons through the trees behind his back. I carved out a circle, a tail, a Y-shaped sigil in the middle.

I did this more times than I could count. Always the same carving, always in plain sight. As night fell, my talon found the tree Gael was resting under. Flecks of bark fell on his scalp and alarmed him.

"What's all that for?" he asked.

I hesitated.

"Please. Just say it."

"I'm making a trail," I said. "We can always find a way back home."

He was at a complete loss. "Come on. It's too late for that."

"No, I--"

"The only thing you'll do is lead them straight to us! Let's go!"

I don't know if it was luck or if he knew these woods, but when I saw that river, I felt like the Winds were looking out for us. And the yearning glow to those red eyes--the stride of an honest man--that wasn't confidence. It was assured. Naive, still, but we always liked it that way. Finally with a bit of good news I could take in my tired skin. Through the stress, and the confusion, and the shared fear, and the ringing eardrums, we were okay.

We took off all our clothes and left it by the quick tapestry Gael had made for shelter. Together we held hands to the river's water, hips disappearing. We didn't know what we were thinking. We just got close to each other and started searching each other's bodies. A midnight kiss in tender moonlight, waterfalls instead of blood in the veins. There's a way a man can touch you that can make you turn to mush. I let myself fall into his arms and reach beneath the current.

Just once I could pretend we're all okay.

(Part 6)

The rain poured by the bucketful on our fleet foot. Our bodies were soaked in a loss of unimaginable proportions, sprinting naked through the forest, my shoulder screaming with pain, thorns and sharp sticks poking, fallen arrows like blades of grass, yet the only way out was through! Mud splashed, frothed and bubbled with talon-arrow-flames, us stamping over smaller bushes, dodging the uphill zones and crawling beneath the tall grass. A few more arrows sailed over our heads, and after a while, they ceased.

A gruff, frustrated yell with clamoring footsteps gave us a short moment to think. In the distance lay a shadowy passage of trees so dark not even fire could live in its grasp. The only route was to duck under the cast of a tree that stood as big as a tower. I thanked the Winds and yanked Gael away just as a flaming volley battered his old position.

We sidled around it and waited, our breaths like lucky pockets in a cloud of smoke. Winds howled. Our feet were like ice blocks as we listened intently. Rustles in the bushes. An animal?

The silence brooded to tiny, eeking beetles. Some crawled with eight legs by the trees, most in the ferns, twitching their antennae. He held my hand without warning. Tiny thunks in the dirt made us jump, but not leak a breath; not a single, solitary sign we even exist. No orders were barked. No mind tricks. Gael stood by, stiff as a board, chest sucked in. A tiny gasp as he reached for the Y-shaped herbs next to the closest roots.

"Stop," I whispered. When you're in the fray, you learn to rest only when your body knows it's right. Even if it meant tending the wounds; any position could be your last. You let that linger on. The secret is that you know you're always in danger. Some moments are dire. Others...

The Winds pulled. A faraway screech arced the sky. Heaviness pounded spearheaded around the left side. Like boulders falling in the point of a sundial. It shocked us once, twice; silently feeling.Thirty. Sixty. Ninety. We prayed it was just apples, but no fruit lie above. Branches too low to reach. The thudding kept going. We held our breaths for dear life.

Winds and shivers took my arm and gripped it. I rustled in the darkness, holding my breath. A large figure loomed its way into view, the faint, blue glimmer of his armor cold with rain. His poise was fixed to the rustling of foliage, spear clutched with a tense grip ready to strike, not knowing with each step, he was a feather off his mark. It was only a matter of time.

Gael's grip tightened as his warm blood mazed through the cracks of the tree's bark. He was shaking more than I. Again, I checked the soldier's spear. The hilts were defined, like a beginner's weapon. That didn't add up; it had to be a scout. If he was here, there was no denying there were more.

I could feel Gael's body slowly moving. His hand was reaching for something. I bit down on his shoulder and pulled back as a last ditch to make him stop, but he wouldn't. He plucked it from the ground, approaching the soldier, subtle steps. His beak shivered as it opened, the point at the end like a knife as he let it slit the bulbous tip open. I was reminded of how spiders' eggs hatch as powder poured out the top. Panic surged through his body from head to toe as the soldier slowly turned. That was when I saw Gael do the stupidest thing I've ever seen.

He lunged forward, uppercutting the helmet and shoving the mushroom in his face. The powder exploded all over him, drying his eyes to a scarlet red. Before he could cry out, Gael clamped his beak shut, kicking his gauntlets in an attempt to disarm him. A quiet whimper escaped his beak as the spikes of the gauntlets tore up his feet; it was clear he didn't have a plan beyond this. That's when I lunged, too, claws out, aiming for the face and neck. Soldier was faster. Pushed us both off with the spear, before I could even draw blood, swinging in wild arcs, barely gracing our stomachs. That's when we realized the powder had kept his beak shut.

I saw...

I saw a line of blood across Gael's chest.

His red river painted the leaves.

I don't remember what happened next. Just pain. Lunged at him, myself, a heavy pillar knocked over but my arms trembled like I had failed, my head in that same tremble, talons feeling just as dirty. Claws found their way into his cheek, taught him how soft the skin can be, how useless feathers are; blood on my skin, crimson, just my feathers; the forest turning every shade of red. My beak was open, throat was in agony, was I screeching?, arms moving on their own, clawing, raking, ribbons of flesh thrown out to a war horn, clawing more important than breathing, clawing until it's wet, chunks, I don't enjoy this but the message is clear:

Don't ever hurt him.

Eerie silence as the dust settled. A mass of tears dissipated to the mangled mess of beak shards and flesh before me. I couldn't put together that this used to be an avin no matter how hard I tried. That's when the remorse kicked in. The bloody moral bevel that swept my heart in two in the same manner as I did. Like destiny's call, now my legs were moving on their own. Back towards the big tree. Puddles of mud quicksanded my feet. I didn't care. In the bark, I carved another bloody Y-symbol.

"What are you doing?" Gael called with the urgency of his last plea for life. "How do you think they followed us?"

"We'll find our way back," I croaked.

"You're giving them a trail. It's bad enough we had to kill him to survive."

"So what if they find him?! Do you see what they've done to us?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you!"

"Do you know what an avin looks like when they get amputated?" I whirled, "This is nothing. I had weeks in the trenches with only larvae to eat. I shouldn't even be alive by now, Gael, and every day was a fight--" Energy kicking in, I pointed at the arrow in my shoulder, "--and tonight's no different! We're going back tonight."

"You wouldn't stand a chance."

"That's guano!"

"And how?"

"Because Apana gave me a job!" The dams in my eyes broke. "I'm supposed to be protecting us!" Breaking into rage, I snarled, "I'll fight them! I'll kill them! I don't know how, but I'll go back there and fight them all! They can't get away with this! They're not going to tear down my--"

"Amara-"

" -I SAID THEY WON'T WIN! I'm going to stop them, even if it's day by day!"

"Amara, please!"

"What?!"

"Just..." His arms went limp. "Just let it go."

It grew eerie and cold as the rain sunk into our feathers.

"Are you serious?"

He was. For a moment, I didn't know who he was.

"Gira is your home, too," I reminded him. "We have a duty to protect it. Always." Rage came back: "If you can't accept that responsibility, I don't need you!"

It was a lie. The faint glow of the moonlight around the tree was daunting, but called my name, and I hated it. I only took two steps. The pang of anxiety struck when I thought of what it'd be if that flaming arrow hit his heart, instead. I'd be nothing. I peered out to the river and saw how far we'd come, downstream. Maybe the tent wouldn't be so far? Is swimming upstream so hard?

"But," I stammered. "Maybe I--"

The words weren't coming.

"...if you could just lend me your wings, for a bit, or follow me there, I'd--"

I felt him come closer, then he held my good shoulder. "Amara. We can't just turn around and be saviors."

"Yes we can," I said, shuffling away from his comfort. "We're smarter than them."

"They built an army."

"We're stronger than them."

"We're naked."

"If you think I'm going to sit here and let Gira burn to the--"

"What choice do we have?!" A voice that cracked with agony. "That airship alone was the size of three Giras. They had cannons that made a wall look like paper shields. What do we have, huh?! Look at us! They ran us over like it was nothing, and they're not gonna stop just because we stood up for ourselves! I'm sorry, Amara, but this isn't about us. It's about dominance."

"All the more reason to not be afraid."

"Listen to yourself! Do you even know where to start?!"

Not once had Gael ever made me so angry I couldn't speak. Rage is a feeling that must be controlled. Yet sometimes, in the heat of its glory, in every agonizing moment it spills over its heaping ends, it comes out as nothing. This was it. This was real. I shivered inside and out--shuddered, even. I felt every sense of vulnerability: my cheeks, the rain on my vagina, the splinters in my muddy feet. When I looked at him, all I got was the same bursts of frigidness. The two of us were completely butt naked in the forest, the rain swimming in our blood and converging. So why couldn't the Kreeg do the same? The Kreeg and the rain are one in the same--it was in their nature to run over whatever they find. The difference is that one of them chose it to be their nature. And if diplomacy wouldn't work, then the only option was to turn around and die trying.

It hurt not to say it, but Gael knew as much about loss as I did. On both sides, diplomacy failed. In war and in refugeeing, the Winds inside us beg for a better tomorrow, or die trying. I turned around, and I intended to die trying. But I just stood there.

"Amara, no," Gael growled.

"Don't talk to me."

"Amara!"

"We'll die either way with your attitude! Now is not the time to be miserable!"

Gael faltered over his words. "Fine. I'm just saying. You can't solve a problem like this by running straight into it. If you can't learn that now, this is going to be a lot harder on both of us. Come on."

"There's nothing back there."

"Please don't make this about you."

"It isn't!"

"You're going to make me say something I'll regret."

"Well, then, go ahead!"

"My father will hurt you."

It was the final cannon aimed at my heart. I had flashbacks to him limping in the woods and tied it all together. He never said why he'd gone until now. I thought for sure he'd been proof of Phyris, but this? Nothing made sense anymore.

"What did you say?" I asked.

Gael's voice was broken and choked in the rain. "My father. He's the leader of the Kreeg. They will do unspeakable things to you if you get caught, Amara, I've seen it! I can't let you do this. "

My voice was wisps: "You, you knew and you-"

Throwing his hands on my biceps, "I know, I know! I couldn't say it! I didn't think they would ever find me! They ran through everything I loved, more than I could ever describe, Amara, all I could do was run! And I hid, and swam, and--and I fasted, and it took one mistake to almost lose what little I had. If you hadn't shown me that kindness, I'd be dead, Amara! DEAD!"

With that, he sulked, ashamed. "You showed me a level of kindness I didn't know existed. You were so kind and gentle and humble to take me in. It gave me my Winds back. You matter so much to me, Amara. More than you'd ever know. We can do this together. Please."

The world went as stoic as him. It hit me that he'd only know all this information if he'd seen it up close. All that strength in my heart was still there. That body I owned, and that beak who talked--that's all we had, anymore.

"I'll do it for you, Gael."

Gael wove his embrace away from my bad arm. "No. Do it for us."

I sank into his arms, and let my tears join the rain in the carnage.

(Part 7)

Daylight broke with the fury of spears. Our bodies weren't accustomed to the warmth, but as we thawed, we gained the energy to think. We'd set up camp about three hundred paces in a straight line from the river to heal our wounds. I was lost staring at the rusted, red arrowhead in the soil while Gael rubbed in whatever herbs he could find and snipped the burnt skin off his arm. This would ensure it'd grow back, he said. Feathers and all. I hoped he was right. My shoulder was wrapped in a gauze of grass, moss, groundwater, and Gael's own feathers. The process of removing it is not something I'd like to relive. Since either of us trusted our own strength, we took turns guarding the "base" while the other returned with water. Gael taught me how to make containers out of leaves. I was terrible at it. Liquid constantly slipped between the cracks. By the end of the day, we only had four pouchfuls, two we had to drink immediately. We decided we could no longer stay there, and tomorrow, there must be a plan forward.

The night had been a freezing torrent of misery, and the despair only ruined the warmth of inside. Gael held me close through it and said one phrase: "We have to endure." He wanted us to get used to the cold. The discomfort. Bugs crawling the little mountains of my limbs. The unforgiving airs. Every wound lingering, lingering, lingering, gone, but not forgotten. It'll always be there unless we keep moving. There had to have been a way to deal with it all, or we'd never figure out how to survive.

I watched Gael's slim body toted two armfuls of sticks for a small campfire. He'd squatted down opposite of me, his big butt pushing out as the logs fell. The heavy dangle between his legs. I said nothing of it. The dreaded question came of, "Where to, now?" I don't remember which one of us asked it.

---

My name repeated as Gael woke me up with confident shakes. Bravado, even.

"I have a plan," he urged. "We'll go back to the river."

Groggily, I said, "What?"

"Water always leads to civilization. We don't have to survive out here alone if we can just find someone who will take us."

I shook my head. "No, that's terrible."

"Even if it meant freedom?"

"No, you don't get it. Gira hasn't taken to the seas since before the Nigidesh. We'd found peace across all settlements in Siroon."

"Not even trade?"

"Exactly."

I saw his confusion and explained it a little further. The only warlords who would overtake a city-state and not control the trade ports were looking to incinerate. Considering the forest wasn't burning already, the firebombing only went as far as Gira's walls. There was no reason not to assume the Kreeg had seized the trade ports already. There had to be another way to go forward. But how? There was one place we could always look: the sky.

"The sun rose from that direction, so that means..." I said, arcing my arm, "...there's the east. The west is to the ocean. No matter where you are in Siroon, if you keep walking east, you'll find the edge of the region."

"Okay, that puts us out of Siroon. Then what?"

It stumped me so hard I foolishly said, "We shouldn't worry about that."

"No, we definitely should. We won't have this energy forever. When we're out of the forest, how will we survive?"

I mused, "We'll end up somewhere safer. We'll go south and find a settlement by the sea, or a boat, or--"

"You're not listening to me. Here..."

He told me if we kept walking east, there were three possibilities. The best bet is that we'd end up in Havarda, a vast desert with no method of crossing and only scorpions to eat. Even if Gael's feathers grew back by then, he'd need to expend so much energy between hauling me and staying airborne that we'd collapse in a few acres' time.

We could also emerge in the north, which I shivered to think about. That would lead us straight into Koumul, a freezing, mountainous region with sky-tall cities separated by blizzards. The only advantage we'd get are vantage points, open tents, and maybe an empty cabin with someone tight-lipped enough to not yell about a godlike being when they saw one. Aside from that, nothing. If the task of walking naked in the tundra wasn't enough, the Kreeg could beat us there and kill us by accident in the crossfire. Koumul is not known for its friendliness--and certainly not for Windborns.

But the last option--that's what stuck with me. If we did everything right, there was an extremely small chance we could head southeast enough to find ourselves in Oanta. An area so peaceful not even the messengers bothered to tell their tales. An archipelago of islands residing in the blazing sun. Their towns were essentially all beach houses and beach-oriented businesses where the tourists and denizens alike had their sworn duty to keep their place clean and tidy. A surplus of tropical fruits like you've never seen. Nudity was not just allowed, but encouraged. They're the most pacific region in Avia and it goes without saying that there's nothing to fight for. Those forces who usurped Gira could be violent enough to smash through that rule. But if they're not, we might never need clothes, or worry, ever again.

"...But that's if we're lucky," Gael said. "It doesn't take much to get turned around. If we ever get sick, we'll have to stop, and that means we'll have to risk getting close to a river if we find one. There's no telling what we'll ever run into."

"It's better than staying here. We'd probably be captured immediately."

"You never know, they might end up being nice to us."

"What?"

"Nothing."

Asshole. I stepped up on a rock and searched our field of vision. The tall ferns rose out between the trees and blurred it all to green the further I looked.

"What are you doing?" Gael asked.

"Looking for poison ivy. If we're going bare-assed, I'd like to at least keep my legs soft."

From the corner of my eye, his face lit up in a way I hadn't seen before. He pointed to a large outcrop by the tree.

"Hey...see those?"

I didn't, at first. He ran over and pointed directly to a large outcrop by an upside J-shaped tree, blackened from a thunderbolt. The fern was as big as his torso and about three times the girth of one of his feathers, and as he ran his digits along the many ridges, they all seemed to fold into each other. For me, that's when it clicked.

"That's a curling exalta," I answered.

"Yeah. Tell me more about it."

"I don't know much, just that they taste good when cooked. I've used it in a couple dishes."

"Me too. What does it do?"

There was something twinkling in his eye, deep beneath the pupil. "They're good when they're blackened on both sides."

"Before that."

"Well, you put it over the cauldron, first, before anything else, so that the juice drains out, or the food would get soggy."

"Right." He was smirking so knowingly. "Do you know why it holds the juice?"

It's almost comical how hard he was stumping me. "Uh, plants drink water."

He ran his finger over the leaf again. Little pools of viscous liquid formed as the leaves curled.

"Give up?" he asked, and it dawned on me, I've never seen this smug side of him. "It's not juice inside. It's gel. It just turns to juice when you cook it. It's rare in nature, because it needs an exact heat to maintain itself. If it's too cold, then the plant would freeze itself to death. But if it's too hot, the gel gets runny and the plant can't survive. It can only survive in places similar to the area it came from."

"So," I shook my head, "that's Siroonian, right?"

"You would think. Look again." He moved aside. "This is a huge outcrop around the tree, so that means some get more sunlight than others. Look. The ones in the shade do better than the ones on top; they get cooler. So that means we're closer to Havarda."

"What? How?"

"Because the closer we come to the desert, the hotter it gets."

I didn't know what clicked in me, but I began to understand. "And we wouldn't notice that until it's too obvious."

"Exactly. And by then, it's--"

I blurted it out: "What if they all had juices?"

"You're getting warmer."

"And what if they became more frequent? If we kept finding them, and they all got healthier the longer we traveled, then...

His triumphant smile approached my face in a confident stride. He opened his beak, and I completed his sentence for him.

"The healthier these ferns are-"

"-the closer we are to Oanta."

In shock, I felt connected with him again. Deep within me, I felt that burst of power resonate. The one I'd used through very battle, every food crisis, every water shortage--hope.

"Hey, Gael?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you do something for me?"

"What's that?"

...

"Fuck the shit out of me."

On top of me, he smashed his massive cock acres-deep between my thighs, grunting "uhn!-uhn!-uhn!", spurts of his pre-cum made it feel like he already came. I was backfirst against the soft soil letting him hold my legs above my head and destroy my pussy. A river of my cum gushed up his massive penis so much you could hear the drips splash against his balls. I let my moans penetrate the treetops like he did me, holding hands, warm as a fire. The hype of nerves, terror and release made this the dirtiest, craziest sex I've ever had!

He pushed it all the way, and I cried in a big, "aa-AAGHH!" with that, my walls filling up with both orgasms. As I shivered he licked my tits and recoiled an inch backwards when my juices belched out between my ass cheeks. It wasn't over. The tingling exploded in his return to hard thrusts, smashing his pelvis into mine, his beak grit with his eyes shut tight. In a heavy, deep moan, he pulled out and let his cum spray all over my belly.

I lost myself in the thrum of it. I collected some of his cum in my hand and played with his head, watching him wince, and finally pull back. "Too sensitive!" he pleaded.

I licked my fingers, half-eying him. "Put it back in."

The whole forest heard him rip my pussy apart, feral birds flying out of the trees, a lone mammal peering at us briefly before trotting away. A slat view of his closed eyes showed every now and then, and they were always rolled up, always caught in my trap, the head flaring to stretch me even further.

I kicked my legs out and pushed him on his back, hardon pointed to the sky. I straddled him, holding it just over my pelvis, and jerked him off. When it got hard as diamonds, his face convulsed, and I licked my beak at him. A huge strand of cum painted me from my navel to my clit, and the next ones were history, plunging his cock back into my tight pussy, riding him as his gasps of surprise and pleasure made him hit notes higher than I've ever done in my life.

---

We collapsed in a shaking mess. It dawned on us guanoheads then that maybe we should conserve a little energy. Maybe that would help.

"That was so stupid," I laughed in that woozy, crooning afterglow.

Gael was still hazy, too. "I think my heart stopped twice." I knew that all too well.

A rustle near the bush didn't even phase us. It was probably just another animal. For the moment, we just let each other's warmth have itself. I had a goal, now. Two of them. One, to get us to safety, and two, to find help for Gira. In both, we were the last hope.

Two steps in the jaws of Siroon, caught between wooden fangs. A tight, manly grip on my butt, roots and sticks crunching underneath. Ugly howls at our nakedness. This is the life we must live. Despair gave in to denial. Denial made us stiff and useless. I wished it away, and it was gone.

---