Myla found the falcon boy the day after the thunderstorm. She spotted him dragging his broken wings outside of Norv while inspecting damaged windmills.
“Oh, my wings, my beautiful wings,” moaned the falcon boy. “You have to help me, Dirt Girl.”
“Dirt Girl?” scowled Myla. She scraped her muddy boots on a busted plank. “Are you kidding? Where are you from?” She considered the battered gold and black feather cloak, his large copper eyes, and bedraggled yellow hair. “What happened to you?”
“The storm knocked me out of the Sky Palace. It’s up on the clouds, just there, you see…” he pointed a finger at a bloated cloud above the toothy mountains. “It’s there, honestly. I need to get back, but my cloak, my wings…I think they might be broken. You can’t just leave me.”
“And I need to get these windmills working,” Myla folded her arms. “The storm nearly destroyed Norv and I’m the only carpenter. But I can take you to a healer.”
“A dirt healer in a dirt town,” grumbled the falcon boy. When Myla marched him into the wreckage of Norv, he grimaced at the thatched roofed homes and muddy streets. “What an awful place this is. Look, if you can fix my wings, I’ll fetch my scepter from back home in the Palace…
the magic will fix this place right up…not sure about the mud though. I’m Kit by the way. Prince Kit.”
“Great,” said Myla, and shoved him into the healer’s hut. “Get better soon.”
*
“The Sky Prince blesses Norv,” gushed the healer upon meeting Kit. Norv agreed, what a beautiful, dare they say, divine creature. Healing his wings became the sacred task of Norv.
Myla clenched her jaw and kept working. Toppled windmills meant no water, roofless grain huts meant moldy corn this winter. She worked as best she could despite the distractions.
“Honestly, I don’t know why you try, Dirt Girl, you can’t save it.” Kit used a feather to clean beneath his nails. “You’d have an easier time if the storm washed this place away. I’ll fix it though, with my scepter. As soon as I can get home, you have my word, Dirt Girl.
“In the Sky Palace, we don’t have dirt,” continued Kit. “Everything is made of mist and rainbows and sunset. If you weren’t so very filthy, I would invite you, but…” he shrugged.
Myla laid down her tools and stomped to the healer. “How much longer until he can fly?”
The healer smoothed a gnarled hand over the feather cloak, eyes glassy in admiration. “Not long, Myla. But what is the hurry?”
*
Summer became fall and still Kit remained in Norv. His falcon cloak hung whole and shining from his shoulders once more, yet his feet remained firmly on the earth. It didn’t help that Norv built a throne and buried it in offerings to the Sky Prince.
Myla sought Kit out. “About your scepter…”
“Quite powerful magic,” replied Kit. “Enough to fix this hideous place.”
“Your wings look whole. Why haven’t you gone home for it?”
A feathery shrug and a flutter of gold lashes. “Perhaps someone caught my eye…a Dirt Girl perhaps. I have received many propositions, and yet…”
Myla folded her arms. “What’s my job, Kit. What do I do here?”
“You…are the Mud Keeper?” ventured Kit.
“Prince Kit!” the healer waddled up, face a raisin of delight. “Tonight, we celebrate our bountiful harvests! Tonight, we celebrate you?”
“Him?” Myla watched the village swoop Kit away to prepare for the celebration. “He didn’t even help with the harvest.”
*
Kit sat upon his throne in the center of Norv, feasting on food he did not hunt or harvest, entertained by maidens whose names he did not know. He wore a grand embroidered cape. Myla approached, looking for his wings.
“I haven’t had this much fun since the night of thunder! Oh, what a party that was…” crowed Kit, scooping a girl into his lap, and sloshing his wine from his mug.
“Party?” scowled Myla.
“A grand party indeed! The thunder, you could hear it for miles in fact…”
Myla stared at the pretty young man in his cornucopia throne. “That storm was a party? Your party? You wrecked Norv?”
“Well…” Kit looked at anything but Myla, all the answer she needed.
Myla narrowed her eyes at the throne. “You’re not a prince, are you? The scepter isn’t yours. That’s why you haven’t gone back to the Sky Palace.”
“Is that true?” asked the girl on his lap.
Kit unseated the girl and hurried after Myla’s angry steps. “Not in front of the dirt village…!”
“Go away, Kit. Go back to the party. Enjoy our harvest.”
“But…Dirt Girl, I’m here for you,” moaned Kit.
Myla turned to face him with her sweetest smile. “Then go back to the party and wait for me. I fear I’m not dressed for the occasion.”
Triumphant, Kit did as she said.
*
Myla marched straight to the healer’s hut where the falcon cloak hung, gleaming and whole, on the wall. She eyed the fire crackling in the hearth, how easily the feathers would burn. But Myla had another plan.
Perhaps it would not work. Perhaps the Sky People were gods. So, Myla slipped into the falcon cloak to see for herself.
The feathers changed for her, embraced her. Her strong bones lightened. Her calloused hands and carpenter shoulders became her wings. Kicking off her boots, she headed for the cliff.
*
Beneath the waxing moon, Myla stood, barefoot, at the cliff. The river hissed, a tiny thread far below.
She heard Kit’s drunken voice as he spotted her. “Dirt Girl? What are you doing? Is that my cloak? Dirt Girl…!”
Myla spread her strong new wings. “I’ll be back. I’ll get that scepter myself.”
Kit runs for the cliff, just a drunk human boy now, feet covered in mud. “You can’t do this!” he wailed.
“I can,” said Myla, and jumped.
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