The Girl, the Dragon, and the Bird

There was a girl who lived in the sky.
Her family was the dragon with sparkling scales and the bird
with ink pools for eyes. During the daytime, they bounded
through the clouds and drank purple nectar.
During the nighttime, under the sweet light of the stars, the
dragon and the bird taught their magic to the little girl. Every
night as she twirled her golden spear, they looked on and told her
that she would be what they never were. When eternity ended and
the sky fell, they told her, she would carry on through the rain and
the fog. She wove nets from starlight and they told her that she
would shine brighter than all of them, for all of them and all they
had sacrificed.
The little girl never yet left the boundless clouds and soft wind.
They were enough for her. The dragon and the bird had told her
stories of the places beyond, where the world was filled with
unimaginable horror but also incredible beauty. The dragon and
the bird had tried to live in that world before, armed only with
dreams bigger than themselves, but they were shunned for their
origins and they fled. One day, she would return to that world and
bring with her the dreams of her family. But now, she sat, wideeyed,
feet dangling off the wispy edge of a cloud, listening to the
dragon and the bird tell her about those seeds that were their
dreams, nursed and sheltered through the tumult.
One day, as a passing herd of deer was making its way back to
its ancestral lands, the dragon and the bird left the girl alone. She
stretched on a cloud and fell asleep, awoken only by unfamiliar
voices. She wriggled upright; this was not the light tinkling voice
of the bird or the melodious rumbling of the dragon. Instead,
peeking over the edge of the cloud, she saw something wondrous:
Two people just like her, with two hands and two feet and eyes,
drink in the whole world. They were so far away from her, yet still
so close. She watched in wonder as they frolicked in a meadow,
carefully picking flowers and berries. Rough laughs escaped their
lips, nothing like the silky songs of the dragon and the bird, but
still she loved listening to them. Afraid to make a single sound, she
stole glances from atop her cloud until her family came to fetch
her.
When she told the dragon and the bird about the encounter that
night, their gazes turned hard and they reminded her of their
sacrifices and their dreams. They reminded her of the plan and the
training and the waiting. And because she was loyal to them, she
gripped her spear harder and pushed on. But the starlight under
which they stood that before had seemed so soft and welcoming
was now cold and distant.
So the days passed. The little girl became not-so-little anymore,
and still, she remembered the two people she had seen long ago.
They never left her mind, and the dragon and the bird knew this,
and they were silent. One night as the girl rested, her sleep
weighed so heavily with a longing that the cloud blanketing her
slowly drifted downwards, and she awoke startled when it
dissipated and left her on cold, hard ground.
She had never felt earth before. It was solid in a way that the free
winds in the sky were not. She dug her fingers into the dirt and
marveled at how it was so gritty and real. That night, she
wandered, feeling inexplicably anchored to the ground beneath
her. She ate sweet berries and waded in muddy water and felt what
it was like to be weighed down and present.
When she returned to the sky, the dragon and the bird smelled
the scent of the earth on her and were silent. The next night, she
came back down and felt the rough bark of a tree. The night after
that, she lay in the sand and looked at the stars, her stars, from
below. The night after that, she befriended a small gray cat with
yellow eyes. The night after that, she wandered into a bustling
marketplace and was so overwhelmed that she returned home
shortly.
She trained harder, and more seriously after that. The dragon
and the bird looked on, no longer telling her about the sacrifices
and the dreams. When the day came that she said goodbye, they
were not surprised. They gave her the spear and the starlight net.
From each of their hearts, they gave her a seed that would grow
into a dream. The dragon leaned its starry scales on her and the
bird curled its soft feathers around her for the last time in a long,
long time. The girl promised to plant their seeds and shine through
rainstorms and fog, bigotry, and oppression.
When her feet left the clouds and touched the earth, she looked
back up at the stars. They winked at her, their light both
welcoming and bitter, gently leading her away from them.