I shall return as the warrior you never were and finally restore honour to StrongWing Tree.” Kyta glared at his sibling, “enjoy my absence while you can. God’s will you will find a mate, and leave for war.”
His brother pretended not to hear the challenge and changes the subject. To the untrained ear it may sound no different than a typical Amosa Morning Bird, however, upon closer inspection the language is much more advanced.
The avian species’ tongue had developed into chirps, clucks and songs. “I am the elder brother, That branch is mine by right,” chirps Ooka in the language of the Hissho. The forest stretches on to snow capped peaks in the distance, with a yellow sun, Gods’ Eye, peeking up through the white mountains. From the top of his family tree, the world looks like an ocean of green. Kyta takes his place at the top of the tree and gloweres down on his brother. Ooka gives a shriek and flies upon a lower branch, spreading his wings in a hollow show of bravado. The young brother gives a great flap of his wings and latches his lower talons around the head of Ooka and throws him from the branch. He does not notice Kyta hover behind him. Perched at the top of the family tree, Kyta’s older brother, Ooka looks out on the forest. The Tree rises five hundred feet from the forest floor, home to all sixty-three of the StrongWing family. Kyta stretches with a sigh and instantly leaps up into the air, flapping his wings as he soars straight up his family tree. Hissho warriors jut out from the pillars, immortalized in the wood, keeping constant guard on his home. The homes of the Hissho are simple by tradition other than elegantly carved pillars that border the platform. Embers smoke in the firepit in the middle of the platform from the night before. His home is a simple wooden platform high up in a giant wickamore tree, sheltered from rains by a canopy of leaves and branches. He lets his talons loosen their grip on the branch and he falls, his body flips in the air and he lands on his feet. A gust of wind ripples through his brown, red streaked feathers. Kyata’s eyes lazily open, his beak opens in an easy yawn. Kyta’s strong claws grip a thick branch as he hangs upside down fast asleep, his wings wrapped around him, warding off the cool air. really excited to get the Hissho in the mixĪ cool breeze dances through the branches, causing leaves to rustle their song throughout the home of Kyta StrongWing.
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