Mating Flight

“Are you coming tonight?” Eupompe hissed at her sister. Leiagore paused in the preening of her nut brown wings to glower at her.

“I want to look my best,” she said.

“Your best isn’t very good, Leiagore, and anyway none of the girls will be looking at you when I’m there. Let’s just go before Dero or Sao give us some stupid chore to do.”

Eupompe’s copper colored plumage was already oiled and primed for flight, so she felt very comfortable rushing her poor sister. The great canyon’s cliffs were painted with the colors of the sunset, and already she could see harpies taking to the air, languidly flapping luxuriously anointed wings to attract mates.

A wild heat was rising in her, a recklessness that felt dangerous and full of potential. If you asked Dero or Sao, they would say Eupompe was reckless to begin with, and annoying to boot, and needed no mating instincts to make her stupider. Elder sisters often spoke that way, Eupompe found, and they were best ignored. Leiagore was tolerable, even though she was older, because she tended to not talk very much and when they hunted together they took excellent prizes.

Tonight, Leiagore was going to be the death of Eupompe if she wouldn’t hurry up. The young harpy’s eyes were riveted on the crowded sky. A flash of ale gold wings had her head swiveling to follow them.

Leiagore swore softly. “By the Mother, that one’s mine.”

Eupompe turned to look at her in dismay. With powerful beats Leiagore’s wings took her off their little cliff cave, and she began to court the harpy with the pretty wings. Scowling, Eupompe flew too— she flew around the canyon rim, avoiding the great meeting of harpies in the middle. Probably she had no right or even reason to sulk: Leiagore had every right to dance with any harpy she liked, and probably Eupompe would find a mate with even prettier wings. But she sulked anyway, though she wouldn’t admit it, and flew the fringes of the gathering.

She saw harpies of all colors and corners of the earth from her vantage point as she circled, and some of them eyed her with interest. Eupompe eyed them right back, the little tease, and then flitted onwards.

As she neared the cave she had departed from, she saw Glauce there on one of their clamor’s claimed ledges, resting her milk white wings in the setting sun. Eupompe settled next to her sister and ran her dark hands through the white feathers near Glauce’s shoulder, rubbing them the wrong way. Glauce’s lips twitched and her opposing wing batted away Eupompe’s bratty hands.

“Damnable little fledgling,” Glauce murmured, “What are you still doing here?”

Eupompe sniffed, knowing better than to tell an elder sister the whole story. She would just lecture her and make it a life lesson. Eupompe was youngest in the clamor, save for baby Menippe who was too young to come to the gathering, and she had heard far too many lectures in her life.

“No one’s caught my eye,” she lied, and toyed with the blue tin necklace Glauce wore. It was braided into a tight choker, and Eupompe stuck her fingers between it and her sister’s throat until Glauce snapped her teeth at her. Deterred but unchastened, Eupompe kept her fingers to herself for the nonce. Glauce’s necklace was given to her by her mate last season, a harpy from the deep rainy forests to the east, and it was a promise that she would be courted by the same harpy this year. Glauce had no need to take to the skies until her paramour came to find her, so she was taking her ease.

Eupompe had been coming to the gatherings for a few years now, and she hadn’t ever had a token of affection like that. Some years she didn’t mate at all, merely watched others go through the motions. Their clamor queen Autonoe had spoken to her about it, and told her it was alright, and that she never had to mate in any given year if she didn’t want to. Of course, her understanding and stolid advice had only made Eupompe sire on as many dams as would have her the next year, just to prove that she could. This year, Autonoe had just given her a tired look and left her to her devices.

“Someone’s caught Leiagore’s eye, I see,” Glauce said. Eupompe turned reluctantly and saw her sister’s nut brown wings and strong legs carry her past, but it wasn’t the ale-gold harpy from earlier she was chasing. All at once, Eupompe’s wings fluffed up happily, though her countenance carefully remained unchanging. Glauce slid over moonlight eyes at her, and Eupompe stared back with an impassive mien.

“I’m going to— I’ll just… I think I’ll take another look around,” she said casually, and threw herself off the cliff. She thought she heard Glauce laughing behind her, but she dismissed it. Elder sisters laughed for the stupidest reasons, and would often twinkle their eyes at you maddeningly if you asked after them.

Eupompe circled low, her eyes flashing around, her sharp form cutting through the air past harpies dancing in the murder red sun. Soon the sun would slip under the horizon and the courting would slow down, the initial frenetic rush to partner followed by slower burns, or mating flights high in the sky. Some harpies would return to their clamor’s nest, unsatisfied with their flirtations.

In one little nook, rather isolated from others, Eupompe saw gold.

She landed nearby on the cliff face, and scrambled with her claws and talons to get a little closer. The harpy with the ale gold wings was sitting well away from the ledge, her arms on her knees, looking out at the night with a rather exhausted look. For a moment, Eupompe wondered if Leiagore had been successful in her pursuit before switching track.

“Hello,” she called out, nice and easy, hoping to find out. She faltered when the harpy flinched and looked spooked.

“Sorry,” Eupompe said, “I didn’t mean to…” she trailed off. She had meant to initiate something, even though she hadn’t meant to frighten her. She became aware of how it was perhaps inappropriate to approach someone in their nest where they presumably were not playing the game. But the remonstration sounded like Autonoe in her head, so she shook it off.

“Hello,” the golden harpy told her in a soft voice, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to… it’s been a night.”

“Oh,” Eupompe said, not yet edging closer to her nest. The harpy’s skin was like the earth of the cliffs, going from gold to dark brown in the folds of her body and back to gold at her extremities.

Eupompe, whose skin was only one boring color, struggled to take her eyes off her neck, where no necklace lay to claim her. “I’m Eupompe,” she said eventually, “Can I sit with you?”

“Yes,” the harpy told her, so Eupompe fluttered up to do that, “I’m Scaea. I’ve seen you before.”

Eupompe sat close enough that their wings were brushing, and Scaea didn’t shy away. She met Eupompe’s gaze with lovely eyes, dark as peppercorns. Eupompe’s feathers began to fan out slowly, and she sharply pulled them back in, focusing on what Scaea was saying.

“You’ve seen me? When?”

“Last year,” Scaea confessed, “You were. Very busy.”

Eupompe thought of last year, and all the pretty harpies she had met and mated, and scowled. She didn’t like the idea that this harpy had been watching her unobserved. She also didn’t like something else about the situation, only she couldn’t put her finger on it, and it rankled.

“Yeah, so? You could have still said hi.”

Scaea looked at her uncertainly, like she was joking. “You were. Very busy. I didn’t want to intrude.”

Eupompe, who was not often known to think before she spoke, thought for a moment. She looked Scaea, looking exhausted on this, the first evening of the clamors’ gathering, and thought of herself last year, zipping around relentlessly with laughter and kisses on her lips. Perhaps, she allowed, she had been so lost in the chase that she hadn’t facilitated her own pursuit without a good amount of effort. Scaea certainly seemed incapable of that effort. She looked like she wanted nothing more even now than to curl up and go to sleep.

“Am I bothering you?” Eupompe said cautiously, with consideration that would have astonished Dero and Sao had they been witness to it, “I can leave if you want to be alone.”

“I don’t want to be alone,” Scaea said, looking a little distressed at the idea, “I’m sorry. I just have trouble with crowds. My clamor lives in the high mountains, and we’re spread out along the range, so I’m not used to company, never mind in such large numbers—sorry, I’m talking too much, I think, and…” she trailed off, seeming quite lost.

Eupompe stared at her. She had never seen someone struggle so much to say so little. Scaea stared back at her with an increasing air of hopelessness, and sighed and turned away.

“No,” Eupompe said slowly, “You’re not talking too much. You don’t like crowds?”

“No,” Scaea turned back, raising shy eyes that warmed Eupompe deep inside. “I get fairly overwhelmed. My first year here I thought it was because everything was so new, but I’m not a yearling anymore and I still get—I get so tired.”

Eupompe, who had absolutely assumed Scaea was a yearling, afraid, inexperienced, and waiting for an older harpy to show her the pleasures of the gathering, felt embarrassed by her assumption. Perceiving that she would best be served by silence, she nodded at Scaea in an encouraging way. She was not unduly smug to think that Dero and Sao, who always said Eupompe couldn’t keep her mouth shut to save her life, were incorrect.

Scaea brightened a bit, like a flower unfurling to meet the sun. She scooched closer to Eupompe, their arms brushing. Her dark hair curled short and tight on her head, and she was quickly becoming the prettiest harpy Eupompe had ever seen.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Scaea asked furtively, and Eupompe nodded again. Scooching yet closer, Scaea continued, “I don’t even like to dance very much. A harpy tried to court me earlier, and my mind just went blank. I flew away from her and she thought I was leading her on a chase, it was so horrible; it took me a while to lose her. She…she did have lovely wing displays, but I get so nervous!”

“That was my sister,” Eupompe said, and immediately wanted to slap herself. Mother’s curse, Dero and Sao had been right all along.

Scaea was mortified. “No!”

“Yes,” Eupompe said.

Scaea hid her face in her hands. “I’m so stupid. Sorry. Forget I said anything about your sister or her—”

“That’s okay,” Eupompe patted her arm awkwardly, “Leiagore won’t mind.”

Scaea peeked out between her fingers, peppercorn eyes glinting in the last light. “Won’t mind what?” she asked.

With a jolt, Eupompe saw the sly intention there, and wondered if maybe she was the inexperienced young harpy about to be taken away to lock talons. It came to her that what had bothered her about Scaea not approaching her last year was that she hadn’t met Scaea a whole year earlier. The thought flustered her, and she replied, with grace and intelligence, “You know.”

Scaea abandoned the sanctuary of her hands entirely. “No, I don’t know. What would she not mind?”

“That—” you jilted her, Eupompe wanted to say, because near fact Leiagore must have found satisfaction elsewhere. That you’re with me instead, also came to her, and that was true too: Leiagore would not begrudge either of them. That you chose me, was the implication, but Scaea had not committed to her choice yet, and Eupompe would be pinioned before frightening her away.

Scaea was curling close, her wings fanning out delicately. “Yes?”

Eupompe wasn’t sure what she was saying yes to. Her eyes were drawn to Scaea’s pretty pink mouth, and her mind was trying to claw its way back to a tenable position in the conversation.

Scaea pressed in with a kiss, and Eupompe returned it with interest. They kissed sweet and soft for just a moment, and then broke apart.

“You have golden eyes,” Scaea said in a dreamy tone. Her hands played with Eupompe’s the very tips of Eupompe’s copper wings.

“You’re right,” Eupompe blurted out, “Dancing is stupid. You should be allowed to just talk to someone and get along with them.”

Scaea looked pleased, even as she pulled away. “Yes,” she said again, “Like we’re doing. Oh, this is so much more comfortable than having to—in front of everyone—”

“It is comfortable,” Eupompe said, and then, somewhat accusatory: “You’re very good at talking.”

Scaea blushed. “Thank you. I don’t—I am very bad at speaking when people are paying attention to me.”

“I’m paying attention to you.”

“You’re different. It’s not…” Scaea looked at Eupompe, once again struggling to express herself. Eupompe began to realize that if she thought herself safe, unobserved, Scaea was very good at—well, everything. Eupompe had never felt so good just from talking to a harpy, and even the kiss, mild mannered as it was, had sent happy sparks shooting up her spine. But the minute Eupompe pointed out something about Scaea, she seemed to fall apart a little. It was awfully endearing.

Eupompe wondered if it was her turn to kiss Scaea, but the night was ruined when half of Eupompe’s stupid clamor came flapping up. Dero and Sao were there, and so were Leiagore and Nemertes. They shouted at Eupompe obnoxiously, calling out that they were flying to the lake by the northern rim to bathe, and would Eupompe like to come when she was done with her pretty friend. Scaea went stiff next to her as they called, and her face became stone.

Eupompe stood tall and screamed back at her sisters. She told them they were boring and unpleasant lovers, which was why they had not been invited to spend the night with their paramours and instead had to go bathe in the lake. They suggested that they had too many paramours to pick just one to nest with, and had treated them so well that they were obliged to go bathe in the lake. Eupompe retorted that they had best go wash their stinking hides, then, before some gryffin thought they were part of some senate; certainly Eupompe was disinclined to accompany them. Shrieking with mirth, her sisters departed at last, and Eupompe sincerely and profoundly understood why Scaea was so sick of crowds.

Scaea had retreated into the cliff cave, and startled when Eupompe came to find her.

“Hello,” she said, “I thought you’d have left with them.”

Eupompe hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say, uncertain of how best to appease her. In the end she said, honestly, “I wasn’t done with you.”

Scaea looked at her with dark, dark eyes. “And when you’re done with me?”

Eupompe came close and took her into her arms. “I would ask to stay the night.”

“And in the morning?”

Here Eupompe lacked an answer. Scaea was very pretty, and talked very well when no one was paying attention, not even Eupompe, who could only be rendered quite stupid when she spoke and looked at her with that sly glint in her eyes. She thought of Glauce, and the necklace that kept her waiting for a harpy. She thought of Leiagore, who would go dancing again tomorrow for a fact, and she thought of Scaea, who didn’t like to dance. She thought of herself, the reckless heat in her, the potential it contained, and what she would like to do with it.

“In the morning,” Eupompe said, “I’ll wait for you to tell me what to do.”

Scaea gave her a small smile, and Eupompe knew she had pleased her. They spent the night in Scaea’s cave. In the first light of the morning, true to her word, Eupompe woke first and waited for her orders. Scaea raised her sleepy head and took her hand, leading her outside. While everyone slumbered and the skies were empty, Eupompe and Scaea flew high and locked talons.

END