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Fortunately, Balm continued, “So if we fly toward the east, past those hills, we’ll be well out of their range.”

Moon shielded his eyes to look in that direction and nodded. “Good, let’s go.”

Balm’s directions weren’t wrong. Past the edge of the jungle, the hills gave way to a grassy plain with a deep clear lake in the center. Moon spotted at least five different breeds of grasseater on the first sweep, from small red lopers with high racks of horns to big shaggy beasts with blunt heads and hooves like tree trunks. But that wasn’t the valley’s most striking feature.

A series of large statues made of some grayish-blue stone half-circled the plain, pitted and worn by the weather. Each had to be at least eighty paces tall and twice that wide. Moon circled one but couldn’t tell just what kind of creature it was meant to depict. It seemed to be a crouched bipedal figure with a beak, but any other detail had long been worn away.

Flying closer, he saw that at some time the figures had been connected by arched bridges, but most of that structure had fallen away and lay half-buried in the tall grass. He landed on the flat top of a statue’s head, the warm stone pleasant under his feet, and turned for a view of the valley. Traveling across the Three Worlds, he had seen plenty of ruins, but there was something about the way the statues were placed, the way the plain swept up to them, framed against the hills. Whoever had done this had seen the entire valley as a work of art.

Chime landed beside him, furling his wings. “Impressive, isn’t it?” He managed to sound as if he had personally constructed it.

Moon thought impressive was a good word for it. “Is it part of the same city as the colony?”

Chime nodded. “Probably. The stone is worked in the same way.”

Balm circled overhead, waiting impatiently, and Moon was hungry. He jumped off the statue, catching the air again.

They split up to hunt, but as Moon made his first pass, he heard a yelp. He pulled out of his dive and banked back around, startled to see Chime on the ground. He huddled over his wing. It didn’t look broken but it was crumpled, as if he had landed badly and fouled it.

Moon hit the ground nearby with a dust-raising thump and started toward him. Chime snapped, “No, leave me alone!” and half-turned away.

Moon stopped, but he wasn’t going to leave with Chime helpless on the ground, even if he was only winded from a bad impact. The high grass didn’t allow for much visibility and the herds of grasseaters would draw predators.

A wing injury could be bad, and shifting to groundling would just transfer a break to Chime’s arm or back, where it could be much worse. Moon knew he healed faster when he wasn’t in groundling form, and assumed that was normal for all Raksura. He hoped it was normal.

Even if Chime was hurt, he was still lucky; Moon could carry him back to the colony, or send Balm for help if the wing was too damaged to move without splints. Moon had broken a small bone in his wing once, slamming into a rock wall while trying to avoid being eaten by the biggest branchspider he had ever seen. He had spent three days curled in a hollow tree, sick and shivering, waiting for it to heal enough that he could shift without crippling himself.

And he needed to get it straight in his head whether he wanted to leave the Indigo Cloud Court because he thought it was too late for him to belong here, or because he just bitterly resented the fact that nobody had found him before.

Balm landed beside him, calling out, “Chime? Are you all right?”

“Yes. Ow.” Sounding more disgruntled than hurt, Chime pushed to his feet, stumbled a little, and carefully extended the crumpled wing. His tail dragged along the ground in complete dejection. “I think it’s just... bruised.”

Moon looked down, distractedly digging his claws into the dirt, trying to conceal his expression. Bitter resentment or not, it was a relief that Chime wasn’t injured.

Balm must have misinterpreted his relief as something else. “Chime didn’t learn to fly until a couple of turns ago,” she said, a little embarrassed, apparently feeling she needed to excuse Chime’s behavior.

Moon was trying to stay out of this, but that was so odd he had to ask, “Why not?” He had thought Chime was his age. And Chime might be a little uncoordinated in flight, but he didn’t look unhealthy.

Still limping and trying to work his wing, Chime growled, “Because I’m a mentor.”

“I know that.” Moon didn’t quite suppress an irritated hiss. “If you don’t want to tell me, don’t.” He wasn’t going to be a permanent part of this court, and it wasn’t as if he needed to know.

“All right, fine.” Chime’s voice grated as he carefully extended his wing again. “I was born a mentor. But then three turns ago, I shifted, and—” he gestured helplessly at the wing, “—this happened.”

Moon hesitated warily, his first thought that Chime was making it up, or being sarcastic. But Balm’s expression was deeply uncomfortable. Suspiciously, he asked, “Are you serious?”

Chime sighed, waved a hand over his head, and almost tangled his claws in his own mane of spines. “Unfortunately, yes. Believe me, I wish it was a bad joke.”

Balm folded her arms, betraying some exasperation. “If you’d just make an effort, let Drift or Branch teach you—”

Chime’s hiss was pure derision. “I don’t need their kind of teaching.”

Moon was still stuck on the horror of the initial change. “That must have been...” He couldn’t conceive of how strange it would be, to shift and find your other body had changed, that you were different. Feeling inadequate, he finished, “...a shock.”

“You have no idea.” Chime’s shoulders slumped in relief. Moon wondered if too many of the others had reacted by telling him he should just feel grateful for getting wings. Moon couldn’t imagine anyone not wanting to fly once they learned what it was like, but that wouldn’t make the sudden change any less horrifying. He knew, from shifting to groundling and back, that the weight of his wings, even when folded, drastically changed his balance, that his tail helped to compensate for that. An Arbora’s body must be completely different, since it was designed for climbing and leaping. When Chime had first changed, he must have had to re-learn everything, even how to walk in his other form. And all the Arbora Moon had seen were shorter and more heavily built than Chime. So his groundling form could have changed, too, Moon thought, feeling the skin under his scales creep in uneasy sympathy. He hadn’t known that could happen. He wished he didn’t know it now.

Still depressed, Chime added, “Did you know that Aeriat really do have to sleep more than Arbora? I didn’t. I thought it was a myth; I thought they were just lazy. In the afternoon, I can’t get anything done. All I want to do is nap.” He shrugged in unwilling resignation. “Flower thinks it was because of the shortage of warriors in the colony, that it’s just something that happens.”

“Are you still a shaman?” Moon asked. When Balm ruffled her spines in embarrassment and looked away, he realized it might be an insensitive question.

He was certain of it an instant later, when he could practically see Chime’s spine stiffen. “That’s not all there is to being a mentor.”

“I didn’t know mentors existed until—” Moon counted back. “Nine or so days ago.”

“Oh, that’s right. Sorry, I keep forgetting.” Chime relaxed a little. “We’re not just augurs and healers, we’re historians, physicians. We keep the records of the colony, make sure the other castes have the knowledge they need.”

“Then what’s wrong with learning what you need to know to be a warrior?” Balm demanded, her tail lashing impatiently.

Chime hissed at her and turned away.