"What's wrong?" Liselotte's voice filtered through the darkness that fogged Ryelle's senses. "Winded already, little godling?"

Ryelle groaned and sat up slowly. The world lurched around her, spinning as she tried to regain her bearings. She'd lost track of how many times she'd tried to 'learn hunting' by playing tag with Gwynelle, or how many times she'd ended up eating dirt or colliding with trees as a result of those failed efforts.

"This is absurd," Ryelle grumbled, spitting out a bit of mud and blood from her mouth where she'd bit her tongue during the last fall. "I'm tired, sore, and no closer to figuring out what you're trying to teach me. What am I supposed to be learning?"

Liselotte stood several meters away, arms crossed over her chest and one toe talon tapping the earth impatiently. "I thought that much was obvious: How to hunt."

Ryelle turned to look back at her, incredulous. She'd come to recognize Liselotte's moods well enough to know she wasn't actually joking, but that didn't make the comment any less absurd.

"I've hunted before," she protested. "And even if I hadn't, surely this sort of wild chase isn't normal? I don't see how this is teaching me anything about hunting."

"Then you're thinking too hard with the wrong organ."

Ryelle looked at Gwynelle, who stood off to the side, panting lightly but otherwise seeming no worse for wear after their extended chase. If anything, the harpy looked invigorated, energized by the activity.

"I suppose I'm not built to 'think with my body' the same way you are," Ryelle said, turning back to Liselotte. "And even if this is teaching me how to hunt, I don't see what that has to do with fighting."

Liselotte and Gwynelle shared a look, some form of silent communication passing between them that ended in mirrored eyerolls.

Liselotte stepped closer, kneeling down so she was at eye level with Ryelle.

"There is no separation," Liselotte said, her voice low, musical. "Hunting and fighting are not two things, but one. You hunt with fury and you fight with ferocity. The line between them is blurred because they are aspects of the same instinct: to overpower."

Ryelle shook her head, the fog still hanging heavy over her thoughts.

"I'm afraid I still don't understand."

Liselotte sighed and rose back to her full height. When Ryelle stood likewise, she could see frustration written into the lines of the harpy queen's face.

"Little godling, I wonder how you are still alive and unspoiled? You lack all semblance of connection to the wildness inside you, that primal hunger that drives your heart. For a dragon's offspring, you've been raised in a truly stifling den indeed."

Ryelle scowled, but chose not to let herself be goaded by the insult. Instead she held Liselotte's gaze defiantly. "First of all, I'm not a dragon's offspring. Kelzryn's essence is not my progenitor, he's—"

"It does not matter. The dragon is in you regardless." Liselotte gestured expansively toward the world around them, as if encompassing the trees, rocks, streams, and all living things in her words. "You are as bound by his nature as we are bound to the sky. Can you not feel the tug of his influence on your essence? Are you only a pale reflection?"

"I..."

The instinctive rejection of Liselotte's words died on Ryelle's lips as she searched inward for an answer. She'd been forged in a god's essence, made to embody traits and quirks, to be an outlet and manifestation for a god to be put to work in the world. There was no denying the spark inside her, that flame that was her essence—and there was certainly no denying that a part of her was just a little bit... draconic.

The dragon's breath that she had inherited... it felt as natural and easy to use as breathing. Yet not even Ebonheim had known the ability to be possible when she had forged Ryelle. It was a part of Ryelle, yet also independent of Ryelle.

Was it something that Ebonheim had overlooked when she created her?

Was it...

"Oh."

Liselotte offered a thin smile at that, her lips quirking upward in faint amusement. "Good. At least there is hope for you yet, little godling."

"But what does this have to do with hunting?"

"Everything." Liselotte spread her arms wide once more, the gesture encompassing all the natural beauty around them. "Dragons are predators. Hunters. They do not stand idle while their prey escapes them. They chase. They pursue. They capture." Liselotte's smile grew. "Or they give up and find new prey. The act of the hunt is... intoxicating, invigorating, empowering."

Ryelle frowned, still hesitant. "I understand that, but why did I have to fail in my pursuit for so long? Why did Gwynelle always escape me?" She shot a glance towards the other harpy, who looked back at her innocently.

"She was not trying to escape," Liselotte said, exasperation clear in her voice. "She was teaching you."

"By making me fail?"

Liselotte's lips thinned into a line, clearly unhappy with her student's obtuseness.

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"By showing you how to fail. How to come close and watch as victory slips away. How it feels to be so near to your goal, only for it to elude you. Only then, once that feeling is ingrained, can you learn to hunt. To chase down your prey with ferocity and vigor. To seek victory with the full force of your being and spirit."

Ryelle turned that thought over in her mind for several long moments, chewing on it like gristle that refused to tear free of the meat. "But I never caught her."

Liselotte rolled her eyes, and Gwynelle giggled.

"You were never meant to," Liselotte explained slowly, as if talking to someone particularly dim-witted. "I said that you needed to fail. You needed to understand failure and revel in the feeling."

"Revel in failure?" Ryelle's brow furrowed. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Yes it does!" Gwynelle interjected, practically bouncing up and down on her talons in excitement. "Is good feeling. Good-bad feeling." She took a moment to find the words before continuing. "You try, and you fail, and you do again, and fail again—but you learn." She nodded so fiercely her entire body shook, her wings flapping a few times for balance.

"Every time you fall short, you're a tiny bit stronger. A tiny bit wiser," Liselotte added. "You inch closer to victory each time."

Ryelle met Liselotte's gaze, understanding blossoming in her eyes as she began to comprehend the lesson she'd been given. Failure wasn't shameful or wasteful—it was part of learning. Success was an inch at a time, growing as failure built you up.

It wasn't that she hadn't ever failed before. She'd failed a lot. But she had always taken the failures as her own shortcomings, as an obstacle to be overcome rather than a tool for growth.

As she gazed around her at the harpies, it became clear how this philosophy fit into their culture. They played wild games filled with competitive backstabbing, worked themselves hard to their bodies' limits—then got right back up to do it again.

"Ah, I think she finally understands," Liselotte said dryly after several long minutes of silence.

"Think so." Gwynelle fluttered over to Ryelle and patted her on the head with a wing. "Good girl!"

Ryelle snorted and batted Gwynelle's wing away. "Thanks, I guess." She rolled her shoulders, feeling refreshed and rejuvenated despite the battering her body had taken.

"Can we get some food now?" she asked plaintively, making both Liselotte and Gwynelle laugh.

"Food?" Liselotte said between chuckles. "You're still in the middle of a hunt, little godling. You don't get food until you've succeeded."

Ryelle blinked, trying and failing not to let her surprise show on her face.

"Really? The hunt isn't over?"

Gwynelle grinned, looking more than a little feral as she backed up a half-dozen steps from her. "Nae catch, nae food."

"Wait, wait, wait," Ryelle said, gesturing with her hands. "Please tell me that 'catching' Gwynelle doesn't mean I have to eat her?"

The young harpy's feathers fluffed up in shock at the implication. "Nae eat. Nae eat!"

Liselotte's expression twitched, as if she was caught between amusement and disgust.

"If you eat one of my subjects, I assure you that you'll not enjoy what we'll do to you in retribution."

A shudder ran down Ryelle's spine, followed a moment later by a sigh of relief.

"Is only tag," Gwynelle assured her, wiggling and bouncing on her talons in anticipation. "Catch—then eat!"

"Okay, okay," Ryelle said, shaking her head to ward off her growing headache. "So I just have to catch you. If I can do that, then you'll feed me?"

"No," Liselotte answered for Gwynelle. "You feed yourself."

Ryelle looked from harpy queen to young subject, utterly confused. "Feed myself? Are there actually any prey animals on this island, or am I supposed to just eat berries or leaves? Because I'm really, really hungry."

This sent both harpies into another fit of laughter.

"You think prey can even survive here?" Liselotte asked once she'd calmed down enough to form words again.

Ryelle just shrugged, not having an answer. In truth, she hadn't seen any wildlife beyond a few birds and insects since coming to the sky island.

When she'd been brought here, she'd assumed there would be some native game for the harpies to hunt. Now she wasn't so sure. If there was, it must be small and fast to escape the ever-vigilant eye of a hunting harpy.

She had left her rations at her temporary bed, not even considering the possibility of hunting or needing food when Liselotte had ordered her to follow Gwynelle. It was doubtful that Liselotte would allow her the chance to retrieve those supplies.

"Okay, then," she said, drawing in a deep breath to steady herself. She wouldn't give in to her confusion. That would only make the harpies' teasing worse. "So there's no game on the island, I don't get to eat Gwynelle, and I'm starving. That's not entirely uncommon for me, I'll admit... But what are my choices then? Starvation?"

Gwynelle nodded cheerfully, her grin still wide across her face. "Hunger. What Ebonheim lacks, Queen teaches."

Ryelle groaned. "I get the impression you guys really, really like to say that."

Gwynelle and Liselotte shared another knowing look, their faces mirrors of amusement and wry humor.

"Food is bounty," Liselotte told her, her voice taking on a vaguely melodic quality as she recited what sounded almost like a mantra or a poem. "Food is treasure. It feeds us, nourishes us, and gives us strength to grow and learn and change."

Ryelle didn't reply, silently waiting for Liselotte to get to the point instead of more of her vague philosophizing.

Liselotte obliged, though it was clear from the arch of her brow that the lesson had been meant to go on for longer. "Simply put, if you want to eat, you have to hunt. Gwynelle is your 'prey' for now. Catch her and bring her to me... Then you may feed yourself."

Ryelle looked between her and Gwynelle a second time. "And how am I supposed to do that? Hunt, I mean. Obviously I can't fly."

Liselotte raised a single, eloquent eyebrow. "Did Ebonheim leave you so useless?" She turned her focus away from Ryelle, watching Gwynelle as she moved around the field. "You want to survive? Thrive? Then you learn, little godling. Learn how to hunt. Adapt to the wild and grow strong. No one else is going to do it for you."

"You're really not going to give me any guidance at all? Even Ebonheim made some effort to get me set on the right path."

"That's your first problem. You expect guidance. Crave it. I give you freedom and direction, not guidance. Follow it—or don't. That is up to you." Liselotte's voice was soft, yet it somehow echoed all around them. "When you're hungry, truly hungry, you stop waiting for others to do things for you." There was a bite to that last phrase, as if Liselotte held contempt for something. "Your prey is there. Go get it. Your desire to eat is as great as Gwynelle's desire to not be caught."

Ryelle took another breath, trying to find the calm to combat the rising sense of frustration inside her. Liselotte was being deliberately difficult, making every simple instruction and answer so much more complicated.

She looked at Gwynelle, the other harpy watching her with that same feral grin she'd had before. Only now Ryelle saw the challenge behind that expression and the invitation to give her all.

A challenge, huh?

Bring it on.

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