Avian grew up in a village hewn from the rock face of the mountain overlooking the clouds. As a girl, she watched in awe as the Wind Riders found the invisible air currents and soared between the peeks, carrying supplies and messages between the villages. Secretly, she dreamed of joining them; but only the strongest of the men were allowed to be Wind Riders.

The wind called to her, whispering her name, even as it filled the wings of the Wind Riders. Once while collecting fallen eagle and falcon feathers with her mother, she confessed the wind’s call. “The wind speaks to those who will listen,” mother said. “Just be sure it is the wind, and not a spirit that is calling you.”

After that, Avian tried to ignore the call of the wind. But as she grew, the call became stronger. When she heard it, she would peer into the nearest flame, though always in vain, for the blue flick indicating a spirit was near by. She finally decided that it really was the wind.

The night she was presented to the village as a woman she resolved to follow the wind’s call. During the day, she helped to mend the wings of the Wind Riders, tanned hides, and prepared meals, as was proper for a woman of the village.

At night, in a back room hidden by a hung blanket, she worked by the light of an oil lamp, constructing her wings from thread, sinew, and feathers she had not given to the men. With long, deft fingers she tightly wove the red and black threads over the light-weight frame of sapling branches and sinew. Then, she secured a layer of overlapping feathers. As each morning drew near she hid the wings under her sleeping mat before closing her eyes for a few minutes of rest.

After months of hard-work, the wings were finished. While they resembled those of the Wind Riders, she had not added any charms or beads to designate the village or her status within the ranks.

One morning as pink kissed the horizon, Avian brought her wings out of hiding. Stepping quietly past her parents and siblings, she went outside. Her bare feet hardly felt the cold of the stone as she began to fasten the wings to her back and down her arms. Excitement and fear coursed through her veins as she flapped her arms and felt resistance. She stood on the edge of the cliff. Listening, she heard the occasional snore from a slumbering villager or the cry of a distant eagle. Then, she heard the wind. It called to her, and she was ready to answer.

Avian flung herself off the cliff’s edge, toward the sunrise. Wind rushed against her face and over her entire body. Instinctively, she shut her eyes. She heard the all familiar call. “Do not be afraid,” comforted the wind.

Avian opened her eyes. The sun burned brightly now, inching its way above the clouds. She felt the wind under her wings, as she rode an updraft.