When I was barely old enough to walk my mother kept me near the adults. She was a soldier, large and beautiful. My father often came to pester her, even when we were wandering. Our kind are solitary, only meeting for one month every three years, so my father was regarded as odd. Mother kept me in the crook of her wings, carrying me around to make sure I didn’t sneak off since I took after my odd father. I watched the others, fascinated by the new environment. Families danced and rang, glad to be back together. Bells attached to wings and horns bounced merrily in the sun. New adults chased each other to find a partner, children that could run played on the ground, while the ones who could fly dashed between or above the trees. Signing slowly, she gestured to a few adults. Their movements flowing from their hands to their tails mesmerized me, though I didn’t understand them. They would point to an older child who was alone. He was missing a horn and was tightly wrapped in his wings. From that day on, I couldn’t help but look for him. The next cycle, I found myself in front of him. The confusion and rejection in his eyes were easily ignored by a child like myself. My knees and grown strong enough to run, so I dragged him off to play. Though he was older, he was a scholar child. I easily carried him off. He plopped himself down and scrunched all of his eyes in anger. Not wanting to be left out, I followed suit. His eyes blinked, his left brow rose as the right and middle narrowed. Since I had found a game to play, I did the same. His center eye closed as he narrowed the lower pair in a glare, apparently realizing my new game. I annoyed him as only a child could, mirroring his moves. Every time we gathered, a similar situation would occur, he’d refuse to play, then I’d find a way to play on my own without leaving his side. Gradually, he stopped getting angry and I stopped trying to force him. We learned to get along. His horn completed its first curl two cycles before mine, showing he was older than I originally thought. He was a new adult and should've looked for a partner. He was small, more clever than strong. While I was taller than several full adults, even among the soldiers. The look on in his eyes when he noticed how I towered over him...somehow affronted along with the normal resignation. Years continued and finally my turn came. He still didn't have a partner, and I wasn't all that close to others my age. Walking to him, his eyes fixed on my horns with confusion. Blinking slowly, he felt his own horns as if verifying something, then glanced at the others. Either he couldn't believe I was already that old, or he hadn't noticed I was female. The curl of the horns is the easiest way to judge gender after all. For once, I couldn't see what hid behind his eyes. Expressionless, not even his body language conveyed what he was feeling. Then, he just turned and left. I learned from my mother that his family was killed by humans and that he had just barely escaped with his mother distracting the hunters. His father had been nearby, but we cannot call for help. His mother, and two younger siblings where killed, but he lived by running away. Is that why? I envy humans, able to ask. To put the grief into words, to cry, to scream, to be able to say, ‘it’s not your fault’ and know he could hear it. All he had to do was close his eyes, and I would never be able to reach him. We can gesture, we can communicate ideas, but even the simple story of his tragedy took my mother years to get across. And yet, we are a patient people. Born of the trees. Though I cannot ask him to trust me, he has over 200 years to learn that I would not let him escape so easy. Our kind are solitary right down to our bones, but that doesn't mean we like being alone. @Silver Snake
It's a touching story, slenderly put. I admire writers able to create such short and meaningful pieces of art. However, I'd say the balance of the story is off. One can learn from the text that the race is flying, horned, solitary (though there's a contradiction), killed by people, proud, don't have oral speech, communicate mentally, practice guest marriages, tough, their gender features are not exposed, they hold social gatherings etc. The point of the story is not the race though, it's a relationship, am I right? And here we have next to nothing. Why does the female want to get that male? Out of her detest for loneliness? Does she pity or respect him? Has he ever shown signs of attraction? What is the meaning of finally getting along: did they touch each other? find comfort in each other? willing to support or protect e-o? IMHO there should be something about their attitude towards e-o (at least through gestures or glances, the reason the poor little male stopped struggling in her mighty arms is not clear) and what they want.
Oh, and also I would like to mention, dark-colored words like 'solitary', lonely, horns, slowly - they really create an impact, darken the atmosphere. My respect.
"Might arms" Hatka I love you. Thanks for the feedback. Where did the mental communication come from? What part did I mess up? Part of the problem is that we can't know what he's feeling or why, though her feelings should be more clear and that's my B. They communicate via complicated gestures that border sign language and through their body language. ie charades. Hopefully I'll get around to writing another short piece about what happens next, and...remember to get her feeling across better...
I got this as a list of how they communicate, not as ' we communicate ideas be system of gestures' My idea was if that part was about wanting a person, you should feed reader something to share the wanting and sympathize with it. The loneliness of the MC and his/ her desire to find smb. Or MC can be a possessive freak who wants to capture another person - that's another very good chance to make readers sympathize. Or MC wants to compensate some grievances and losses to its mate - again, if we feel the losses we start wishing good luck with the compensation. etc. To develop the matter involving the reader. That's my vision. I understand that your flying creatures are tough, so the more complicated is the task. However, tough creatures are often very lovable. ))
By the way, who do you think is the audience of your story? Boys or girls? Romantics or fantasy fans? I'm just interested in groups inside reading-writing people.
Audience? Right, most people actually think about their audience... I would guess fantasy folks as romance fans are generally more interested in complete character/relationship arcs. As for ladies or gents, I dunno. I like to use the shotgun grenade approach. Hit anyone within range and several outside it too.