Two Moons

Chapter 1 | Routine

Henying is a massive planet, far bigger than earth, teeming with life of all kinds.  Riddled with open seas, patchwork island strips, and a handful of unfathomably vast land masses, the continent of Belecteon holds only a fraction of this planet's surface.  Far far inland lies an absolutely massive forest, far larger than legs could ever walk in weeks.  Rivers sweep through the trees, canyons cut through the earth at every plate, and odd sounds echo throughout the forest.  To the locals, most are familiar sounds- strange creatures like eekrions, tobera, and the occasional novak.  But occasionally, the shadows growl, the ground rumbles, and the leaves shake as a massive and daunting creature lumbers through the undergrowth, spines rattling along its back.  What is usually a motionless canopy gets suddenly interrupted by a ginormous flying beast, slicing down from the clouds and stirring up screeches of all kinds in its wake, before it fades into the distant sky.  No matter the surprise, the forest always falls back into its usual calm ambiance.

Relative to the size of the main forest, there is a small patch of territory buried within, though still one that would take several days to travel completely.  Much of the ground is covered in thick undergrowth, with few muddy paths that wind between twisted trees.  Most streams and rivers are lined with low canyons, where the shrubs and trees boldly grapple their roots along the cliff edges, over-shadowing the waters below.  As one goes deeper into these woods, giant, thick-trunked trees tower above the mossy ground, and the dense canopy intertwines into an impenetrable blanket below the sky.  The clouds above lazily drift by, often dipping low enough to brush along the highest leaves.  The branches toward the top of the trees are compact and sturdy, and the ones closer to the ground droop, sometimes casting their needle-like leaves against the ground.  Intermingled with these leaves, strangely, are an array of feathers- some soft and wispy, others straight and uniform, and all coming from above.

High within the trees, yet still a bit of a ways below the canopy, small huts hang, some larger than others.  Though they look simple, all are intricately woven with strong fibrous materials that could withstand even the harshest of storms.  Some are connected with bridges, or strategically planned branches that span the gaps between, intertwining a complicated and convoluted system of homes.  Near the outer edge of the village, with a ring of well-maintained perches surrounding the back side, rests a long building, strongly built between the twisted trunks of the unique tree supporting it.  This elaborate village would not be complete without it's inhabitants: Reedacons.  These community-driven beings dive and swerve through the huts and bridges like ariel acrobats, using massive wings to stay airborne.  Their flexible legs and feet brace their landings, with massive talons gripping the bark of the trees.  Despite their birdish looks, they speak through soft muzzles instead of beaks, as their acute ears turn to hear.  One may think bridges or ladders are typically useless in a village made for inhabitants that can fly wherever they wish.

Except for one particular reedacon.  Percy sat quietly on a large communal perch, which in this case was a large branch that had been twisted and woven around the trunk of one of the village's trees.  His long and slender ears twitched gently, occasionally swiveling to one side, or the other. Again, just the sounds of the forest, but with it, the squawks and chatter of the village before him.  He watched as his fellow village members swooped off of their hut porches, down into the shorter trees below, or even up from the trees to join their friends on other perches.  The reedacons had such a peculiar way of getting around, though they had perfected it to the point it looked like an artform.  Without worry they could weave between huts and branches, and even pass over the huge council hall upside down- soaring effortlessly on well-kept wings.  And yet, as he watched, Percy scoffed.  The way they seemed to hop, leap, and skid only briefly on any surface, as if anxious to get back into the air, was nothing short of irritating to him.  He grumbled slightly to himself, feeling an ache in his back, and he stretched back, fanning out his wings as he did so.  They were small, comically small even, and far from flight capable.  He let out a relieved gasp, and tightly folded his wings back, his long tail lashing silently beneath him.