The Freehold of the Shaded Wing
She gave up flight, for what exactly?
Sparrow stands at 5’2" and has a very petite figure. She has dark brown, almost black, hair and her eyes have a certain coldness to them. While not being made of feathers itself, her hair has a feathery quality to it. Her limbs, from the elbow and knee down, are talon-like, the skin all leathery, browned and yellowed. Her nails are on the tips of her digits and come to a point. She has patches of feathers around her neck, shoulders and hips, and protruding from her back are two small, useless, feathery brown wings.
Those who look directly at Sparrow get the uncomfortable feeling of their eyes drying, which is alleviated as soon as they look away. The air around her feels slightly more crisp.
She’ll tell you what she wants you to know.
The light is dim on the barrowmounds, moonlight sparsely dappling through willow leaves and glinting off the eyes and talons of your fellows. The hills are gentle, and long, and quiet. The sky that you see in patches through the leaves dances with the aurora, silver and green and icy blue, and you reach up, yearning and straining for the sky once more. You feel your wings flex, talons clutch and release, a sudden bunching of muscle, and you are aloft. Your claws raised to the sky, you pump your wings, eager to clear the treeline and soar, but the sky recedes from you, and then the ground rises up. You land, and leap again, again, again, until tears stream from your eyes and blur the glory you reach for, but cannot ever grasp.