"So, do you think I’ll be able to return to the Farlands in time?”

Flickering light from the fires of the aerie shines around me and illuminates Kuro against the darkened interior of our den. We parted ways with Frope after our meeting on the gathering stone as Kuky wanted to spend one last day with Frope before she came to live with me and Kuro. As for us, we decided to spend the night in the aerie instead of flying all the way back to Kuro’s den in the lower valley. After everything that happened today, we were both exhausted.

“Well, that depends on you, and how fast you learn to hunt.” Kuro settles into one of the bedding piles that were left behind by the last group that stayed here. “I wouldn’t want you to fly all the way back to the Farlands only to find you didn’t train enough to catch prey.”

That’s certainly a concern. Uma told me it won’t be long before the crossing to the Farlands becomes impassable for the season. If I fly home and discover I’m no good at hunting prey, I won’t be able to return to Felra. I’m as good as dead. But at the same time, if I spend too much time training, I could be stuck in Felra until next spring. As the border dispute with Melicola continues, who knows how much things could change in my absence?

I sigh and settle onto my bed of dried foliage, moss, and feathers. “I have to learn as quickly as possible. Each day I spend in Felra is another day of anguish for everyone I know back home.”

“I understand,” Kuro answers softly. “I’ll teach you only what you need to know to hunt in the Farlands. Prey is much easier to catch there, so there’s less I have to teach you.”

“So, you’re saying I’ll have plenty of time to make it back?”

“I think you will.”

Kuro smiles, and I return the gesture. At least one of us is feeling optimistic.

I yawn and settle my head down in front of me while Kuro works to preen her wings. I stare at the rocky walls of the den, focusing on nothing in particular, allowing my mind to wander. To process the enormity of everything I’ve acomplished to make it this far.

Sunday morning at the breakfast table seems like a lifetime ago. When I scrambled onto that train out of the palace it was early afternoon, right after lunchtime. Now, late on Thursday night, I’m at the heart of Lithan society, fully accepted as one of their own. Who else in all of history has ever had a more consequential sequence of days than I just have?

Gee, I’m so lucky.

Why me? Why did it have to be Princess Asha, the second most important animal in the Kingdom that gets turned into a Dragon? Why couldn’t it have been Calypso, the gallant knight with a heart of gold who excels in battle? I can only imagine how amazing he’d be as a Lithan! I’m just the spoiled, unlikable Princess whose only job was to live long enough to succeed her mother, and I couldn’t even do that.

“Asha,” down feathers fall like snowflakes from Kuro’s muzzle as she pulls her head back from her wing. “Do Farlanders tell stories to each other?”

“Of course we do,” I raise my neck, welcoming the chance to distract myself from my turbulent thoughts. “We tell stories all the time, in lots of different ways.”

Kuro chitters, “I knew you had to. The way you told your story about the airship-prey was so exciting! I bet you’ve heard countless wonderful stories in the Farlands.”

“Well...” I trail off. “There’s one in particular I’ve been thinking about a lot lately.”

“Really!?” Light gleams off of Kuro’s eyes from the fires outside. “I’d love to hear it! Nobody has ever heard a story from the Farlands!”

“It’s not a happy story,” I warn, sitting up to stretch my wings. “It’s a bedtime story we tell our kits, one that’s supposed to teach a lesson. Is that alright?”

Normally, I don’t think I’d share a story like this. Children’s fairy tales are always a little bit cruel, and this one is no exception. I’d much rather tell something positive, but this story in particular is eerily similar to the insane situation I now find myself in. If Kuro wants to hear a story, then this is the one I’d like to tell her.

Kuro blinks. “A bedtime story?”

I stare at her a moment, trying to figure out what she’s asking before I remember she doesn’t know what a ‘bed’ is. “Right, right,” I say. “You wouldn’t know that. It’s a story that’s told at night when our kits are falling asleep.”

“Oh, like a den story?”

“Yeah, I think it’s something like that,” I grin, humbled that there’s still so much I have to learn about Lithan culture.

Kuro stretches her wings wide to her sides before pulling them in back with a yawn. “Well, I’m almost ready to fall asleep, so I think I’m a candidate for one of your ‘bedtime’ stories.”

“Alright then,” I chuckle, imaging Kuro as a tiny little fledge, staring up at me with curious eyes as I tell her a riveting story from the Farlands. “This is a bedtime story my mother used to tell read to me when I was young. It’s called,”

Felicia The Squirrel

Once upon a time, there lived a little Ringtail named Felicia,

Always outside playing, sometimes in great peril,

Felicia loved the outdoors, but cared little for ferals.

Felicia hated the squirrels that lived in her yard,

“Miserable pests!” she claimed while watching,

Throwing sticks and stones, delighting when they ran,

Offering them food, only to pull back her hand.

Then one day, a vengeful spirit saw Felicia,

“Petulant girl! You’ll regret what you’ve done!”

With a snap of his paws, a spell was cast,

And poor Felicia looked at herself aghast.

Diminutive in size and fluffy in texture,

A short, bushy tail, now her closest companion,

Felicia cried, “But, I can’t be a squirrel!”

The spirit cackled, “Then you should’ve been kind to ferals!”

Felicia ran to the squirrels she once teased,

“Please! I don’t know how to be a squirrel!”

But unlike Felicia, the squirrels did not groan,

They happily took her in as one of their own.

Felicia the Ringtail was never seen again,

So think of poor Felicia the next time you see a Squirrel,

Don’t you believe you’ll be kind to ferals?

“...And, that’s the story,” I finish up, folding my wings to back to my sides.

To my surprise, Kuro’s eyes have gone wide as discs in a mix of amazement and shock. “Asha...” her voice wavers. “This story, did it... did it really happen?”

“You know...“ I smile and down at still unfamiliar talons. “If you had asked me that question before I became a Lithan, I would’ve said, ‘don’t be ridiculous’. The tales we tell our kits are supposed to be fantastical, made-up adventures. But after everything that’s happened to me these past few days... I don't know. Sometimes I feel like I’m Felicia, and becoming a Lithan was penance for something I did wrong.”

I don’t know who wrote Felicia The Squirrel, or how old the story truly is. But the similarities to my own situation are too coincidental to ignore. To be clear, I’ve never done anything genuinely awful like throw rocks at the local wildlife. But it sure does feel like I’m the victim of some kind of grand punishment, and I’ve simply yet to met the vengeful spirit who caused me all this grief.

Could Felicia’s story be a cautionary tale based on a real event, something that was mistaken for fiction and passed down through the generations? Most of our knowledge of ancient Ellyntide was lost during the Nortanian occupation two centuries ago. We know very little about the history of the Serpentine Ring — who forged it, when it was forged, or how it was forged are all questions that time forgot the answers to. But the shimmering light I saw when I transformed was downright magical. Could such wonders have been possible in ancient times when the ring was forged?

Kuro sighs and shakes her head. “Maybe that story is real, maybe it isn’t. But as long as you don’t give up,” her muzzle curls into a soft smile. “I doubt the story of Asha will end like Felicia’s.”

Warmed by Kuro’s gentle encouragement, my anxiety dissolves. “I sure hope you’re right.”

That night, after we laid our heads to rest, I dreamt of Calypso.

Long strands of grass passed by our waists as we walked side by side through a vast, open field on a warm summer day. Calypso was wearing his dress uniform, sword at the ready, while I adorned an evening dress trimmed with lilac lace, the one made to signify my title as heir to the throne. I was a Lemur again, and for all the moon it felt like I had never turned into that cursed beast of a feral.

And yet, somehow, I still possessed the memory of Felra. Of transforming, of being rescued by Kuro, and of joining the Snowfell Flock. I wanted to share the tales of my grand adventure with Calypso, so I tapped my tail against his shoulder.

That goofy grin of his. As wide as I’d ever seen it.

I tried to speak, but something caught my eye; a shimmer of iridescent light at the edge of my vision. I turned to see what it was, but all I saw was an endless sea of tallgrass wafting gently in the breeze. When I turned back, Calypso was no longer standing there. He had vanished without a trace.

Then, I woke up.

Back in our den at White Mountain, Kuro’s scent is stale. Through the haze of fizzled sleep I recognize she likely left to go on a late-night hunt. We were so busy after the gathering concluded that we didn’t stop to partake in some of the communal prey. I suppose that’s alright. Knowing Kuro, she’ll save me some scraps for the morning. Keeping my eyes closed, I shift into a more comfortable position and wait for sleep to return.

...

That was an awfully weird dream I just experienced, wasn’t it? It felt strangely lucid, more like a distant memory than a wayward dream. And for the first time since I left the hollow, I had a dream with Calypso that wasn’t a terrible nightmare. I felt… genuinely comforted, standing side-by-side with him again. Like he was still protecting me from afar.

…What a senseless response. Calypso is dead. How could I be so naive as to feel reassured by a mere dream? Agitated with myself, I shift until I find another spot in the bedding and wait for sleep once more.

…

Somewhere nearby, feathers shift. Feathers that are not my own.

I sniff the late-night air, but the only fresh scent is my own. I open my eyes and find that a shadow is being cast in front of me. Thoroughly confused, I whirl myself around. Standing in the entrance of the den is a red bird dappled in glowing light.

That bird.

“Good evening, Princess. I hope this isn’t an inconvenient time for a conversation.”