Of Wind and Wings
an excerpt

Chapter 1

With a clack, the sparring staves of two Vetuan youths met mid-air, the smooth yet dented wood shining faintly in the waning sunlight of another long summer’s day. With a flourish, the larger of the two combatants flipped his own weapon around, dealing a rather severe blow to the thigh of his opponent, fetching a sharp yelp in reply.

“Byrn! Come on! That hurts,” the younger boy said, grimacing toothily and rubbing a hand vigorously on the blossoming bruise with his tail flicking around in pained agitation.

“Your Rite approaches, little one! You’ll be a man soon. Take it like one!” Byrn replied smugly, his outspread wings filtering the falling sunlight, outlining every vein and fold in their leathery membranes and casting brilliant rays onto a number of shining wing-clips. The Vetuan’s scaled hide glimmered a bright blue-green, a near exact match of the ocean’s own hue, and his robe-like garment flapped idly in the lazy breeze.

“Don’t call me that. My name is Tyr, brother, use it,” Tyr grunted in reply, stabbing the blunt-ended stave into the soft earth at his three-clawed feet. He folded his own wings meekly behind his back. Unlike his brother, Tyr hadn’t yet come of age, and as such, could not adorn himself with jewelry or clothing.

That was what the Rite was: the passage of a Vetuan youth into adulthood. A ceremony which entailed the painful puncturing of the wing membrane midway down the back to allow for the tying of garments onto the body. A ceremony which Tyr had both anticipated and dreaded, revered and despised.

Off in the distance, mixed with the soft rustling of trees heavy with foliage, the faint drone of a horn could he heard prancing on the wind.

Byrn, turned, his pointed ears pricking at the noise, their tiny earrings glinting. “Father calls,” he muttered to himself, crossing his arms with the stave tucked into his elbow. His golden eyes flashed in the light as he faced his brother.

“Time to head home?” Tyr asked, stretching his ocean-colored wings, the edges of the membranes pulling slightly as a breeze wafted through the large clearing.

“Aye, little brother,” Byrn replied, stretching his pinions and crouching slightly to test the current of the air. He flared his tail sail and with a deft leap launched skyward, tucking his arms and legs against his body as he pulled his wings down in the ever-important first beat.

Tyr followed suit, a miniature version of his older brother. He watched ahead of him, slightly jealous of his brother. Jealous that he had been the first hatched and, of course, the first into adulthood, whereas Tyr remained a mere whelp, always looking up to his outstanding sibling and told by his elders to follow in his Byrn’s practically-perfect footsteps. Such was the life of Tyr, second son of the great Seabreeze Clan’s Brood Leaders, Tybiros and his mate Celis.