[Author's note: Today's epigraph is brought to you by the song "Counting Stars" by One Republic. It took me ages to figure out what I was going to do for it—all songs require a punchline, apparently this is The Law—but things fell into place eventually, as they often do. I appreciate your tolerance for my ridiculousness thus far. I want to give a shout-out to the readers out there, especially those of you who have taken the time to review or added it to your favorites. It's especially motivating to know I'm writing for an actual audience, not just chucking these virtual pages into the internet void. Huzzah!]

7 – Controlled Falling

.

In Maguuma, I've been losing sleep

With canopy too high, ravines too deep

I pray to Dwayna for so many things

I'm done with falling damage

Someone make me wings

Yeah, someone build me wings

.

I try to dodge

All those swinging vines

Get hit by mushrooms, darts and mines

Rainforests can be unkind

But I've never felt so maligned

Strong—but I'm not OP

Sword—is no machete

And I don't think this map's for me

I can't stand the sight of trees

.

I—I—I—I want to soar like a kite

Over the trash mobs

I—I—I—I am a leaf on the wind

Glide straight to you, Mordy

I could fly, could fly, could fly

Everything that kills me makes me want to fly

.

~ folk revival song performed by Scout Acan, glider-watching connoisseur, with lyrics attributed to one of his (possibly human) contacts

The early morning sun filtered through the jungle canopy, giving the Ledges a bright, verdant look that matched Ffeldy's new-found mood. Hammer slung across his back, he whistled as he made his way along the path to the upper camp.

"Rise and shine!" Ffeldy knelt in front of the Commander's open tent flap, a mug of hot coffee in each hand. "I didn't realize how beautiful the rainforest could be, but this lighting—" He stopped short. The tent was empty.

"Looking for the Commander?" growled a low voice behind him.

Ffeldy glanced over his shoulder. A charr with huge green eyes and a longbow over her shoulder huffed the air. Ffeldy's ancestors had been refugees of the Searing of Ascalon, and his neck prickled whenever he encountered the large feline hunters—a centuries-old inherited instinct he struggled to shake. Charr and humans were allies now, of a sort. His brain knew it, even if his elevated heartrate did not.

"She didn't…leave, did she?" Ffeldy pushed through his hesitation.

The charr's ears swiveled and she gave the air another long sniff. "At least an hour ago. She had word of an Itzel scout with important intelligence regarding certain high-value prisoners. I don't expect she'll make another detour back here. It's an urgent mission."

"I understand." Ffeldy stood, taking a long sip from one of the mugs to hide his disappointment. "Err…you want some coffee?"

"If it's not Dolyak bullion I'm not putting a whisker near it. But thanks."

Ffeldy heard a squeak and looked down. A juvenile devourer—all legs, claws and chitinous double-tail—scrabbled at his boots. He jumped back with a yelp, sloshing coffee over the front of his coat.

"Frostbite! Down!" snapped the charr, but the little devourer ignored Ffeldy now that it had a puddle of coffee to lap off the ground with its mouth-pinchers. "Sorry about that. He's quite gentle. Who knew devourers craved caffeine?"

"It's no problem. I managed to save one cup, and no one else was going to drink the other anyway." Ffeldy's glove wasn't the most absorbent blotter for his soaked front, but he didn't see any convenient towels lying around. "Are you two headed in the same direction as the Commander?"

"Frostbite and I will be scouting the area, then regrouping with her, yes. You're a Pact soldier. You've got your orders, I assume."

"There were other Pact airships that went down nearby. And Faren's Flyer." Ffeldy drained the remaining mug in a few quick gulps. Atalanta had her priorities straight. This mission came first. By Grenth, what was he still doing here, lazing around camp? On the edge of the ravine nearby, servants had erected a tent-like pagoda for these airship-wrecked nobles, who continued to live in style with their Ascalonian whiskey, tapioca pudding, and domestic service. They didn't seem particularly eager to escape the jungle, and he could already feel their inertia slowing him down, too. His body was bruised and battered from the crash, from sparring with Canach, and just a few more hours of sleep in the empty tent wouldn't make a difference…

"A rescue mission. The Commander'll like that."

Ffeldy's face grew hot before he realized she wasn't using Canach-levels of sarcasm.

"You've done some scouting in this area, right? Any idea where the Faren's Flyer might have crashed?"

She turned. "Well, you could always read the signposts I guess."

"Ha."

"Just don't trust compasses. Mordremoth's presence overpowers them in the Heart of Maguuma. They only point towards the dragon. But you might try going downhill."

"Good to know."

"Walk softly, Ffeldy," said the charr, and flicked a farewell with her tail. "Come on, Frostbite. No, get down. You're the one with all the energy. I think you get to carry me today."

"May Dwana keep you." Ffeldy bowed slightly, racking his brain for the charr's name. He'd met her last night at the bonfire, but it hadn't stuck. It was too late to ask now.

After the charr scout had gone, Ffeldy tried to maintain his momentum and started packing for his mission.

"I'd trade my little finger for a rune of holding right about now," Ffeldy muttered to himself as he strained to connect the buckles of his overfull rucksack. He'd have to dump some supplies. Most of his salvage materials would have to go, but the jungle seemed to be full of that sort of thing—wreckage. He grimaced at the unwelcome dark thought.

Emptying the pack for the third time, he refilled it with only his tools, a recovered med kit, and an assortment of under-construction gyros. As he lifted one spherical gyro, the mechanism gave a bird-like peep and feebly spun its propeller. Ffeldy gave it a tap, then tucked it away in a pocket. He had worked on this one earlier, figuring he'd use it as a prototype. He intended to perfect the avionics and functionality of a single gyro, then apply the design to the others, tweaking their purposes slightly. The asuran gyro technology wasn't new to him, exactly, thanks to the Pact's integration of Tyrian races. He'd used a gyro "assistant" when he was chief engineer, to conduct basic maintenance inside Thunderbreaker's inflated hull—just pop the valve and slide it through. However, he hadn't thought to weaponize them until facing that Mordrem troll. He still had a scant elixir collection and wanted to pair them all with gyros eventually. Could be useful, and fun.

At last he managed to fasten his rucksack buckles. Shouldering his weapon and pack, Ffeldy made his way between the tents. He should probably get started on that rescue mission one of these days.

As he passed by one of the tents, a hand emerged from the open flap. It clasped his arm and yanked him off his feet. He found himself flat on his back inside the tent, pinioned by… Atalanta. She straddled him, both hands cupping his mouth. Her skin felt clammy and cold against his. Some earth-magic kept him immobile, as if she'd embedded his limbs in rock. Her dark eyes glistened, her hair frizzed from her usually neat braids, and Ffeldy could feel her quivering against him. He also had a disconcerting sense of déjà vu.

"Hush, it's just me," she hissed without releasing his mouth. "I know, I know. You thought I was long gone. Duty, mission, all that. Well, I was. I tried to meet that hylek scout in some ancient tree, which turned out to be impossible. I had to run up the walkway to that stupid tree, drew aggro from an entire tribe of nasty treefrogs, and nearly fell to my death in a bottomless ravine. Five times." A hot tear slid down her chin and splashed Ffeldy's cheek. "Can you imagine a more idiotic way for the Commander to die?"

Ffeldy could, actually, but wouldn't have ever brought it up aloud. He'd never seen Atalanta so upset—or upset at all, come to think of it. She'd always had that unassailable veneer of confidence, even back in her Hero of Shaemoor days. Confidence that had always been as foreign to him as a Crystal Desert vista.

"I ran away, Von. I ran away like a child and snuck back into camp in mistform. Here I am, hiding in a tent and I don't…know…what…to do. This Grenth-cursed jungle is going to kill me, and there's so much gods-damn pressure. No one considers for a second that I might not actually know what I'm doing. Failure is not an option. But this isn't Kryta, or the Silverwastes, or even Orr. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'd rather be back in Orr."

Atalanta released the earth-magic in Ffeldy's limbs and swabbed away her tears.

"You don't have to do it alone," he said when she moved her hands.

"But I do. You don't understand. I have to act as a lone wolf to be worthy of my Commander rank. It's disingenuous otherwise.

"Is it? You're the Commander. You command. Take a full party and attack the tree."

"Von!" she hissed. "I'm supposed to infiltrate the Coztik with stealth! I'm not going to kill an entire tribe for one little piece of information from Scout Ubek who, by the way, is far too valuable as a double agent to risk in a full-on assault."

Ffeldy sat up slowly, an awkward business with Atalanta still straddling his hips, though she didn't seem to notice. "I'm sorry Maguuma is giving you a terrible time. No one likes to fail. Trust me, I know all about failure." Apparently, failure was as rare to her as success was to him. He wrapped her in a hug. "But I'm here for you."

"That's what I was hoping you'd say." She spoke with her forehead pressed to his neck. "Because I've been shot. I…I forgot to mention it before."

He noticed now how a cold mist wafted off her skin.

"You WHAT?" His heart thrummed against his ribs like a motor. "Where? How many times? How long ago?" Now his emergency medic instincts took charge. He lay her back on the plush tent floor and upended his rucksack in search of his medical supplies.

"Twice in my leg and once in my side." She winced when he ran a hand over her bodice. "They were poison darts. Not long ago. I slunk straight home, didn't I? Used all my water-healing to stay on my feet. Please keep your voice down, Von. Oh gods, imagine if anyone sees me…"

"Stop worrying about that," Ffeldy snapped. "I'll need access to the wound site. I can use these scissors to cut away your tunic—"

Atalanta sat up and put a firm hand on his arm. "Von. No. You will not cut my top. I only have the one and it's ascended."

"But I can't—"

Before he even finished his sentence, she swooped her shirt over her head and clutched it to her chest. Old battle scars marred her dark skin. It made sense, but the sight caught him off-guard. She always seemed so tough, he'd assumed she couldn't be harmed. But she was human, too.

"You can, Pact Engineer. I'm starting to hallucinate little plant-dragons. They're buzzing around the tent like flies. So if I hit you, I swear it was an accident."

"Whatever you say, Commander." Ffeldy refocused his eyes on the perforation in her side. It was a small hole, probably made by a dart, and it oozed with a green jelly-like substance. He held up a syringe pre-loaded with a cleansing solution that should neutralize the poison, assuming this particular med kit hadn't been compromised in the crash. Atalanta's increasingly erratic and paranoid behavior might be poison-related, too. Maybe.

"I hate needles." Atalanta fell back on the cushions and pulled part of her shirt up over her eyes. "So don't tell me when you're about to—"

Ffeldy didn't even hesitate.

"AH!" Lightning crackled over her body.

The green ooze in her side-wound fizzed on contact with the cleansing agent. It was working.

Ffeldy didn't duck fast enough when she swatted him with one electrified palm. "Hey, easy there. Do you want me to fetch my fumigator gun? That'll neutralize the poison too—with noxious gas, ironically enough. You'll smell like sulfur for a week."

"Very funny. Ha. Ha. Sorry, there was a dragon on your face."

"I'm serious. You said you were shot in the leg, too?"

"Twice." Atalanta thrust one leg dramatically over his lap. "Gah. Fine. Do your worst."

A pair of wounds reminiscent of a large snakebite marred her thigh, just below her skirt. Ffeldy ran a hand up the inside of her leg, moving the fabric aside, and felt her relax into him. But when he raised the syringe, she jerked away, almost kneeing him in the nose.

"You're in league with Mordremoth, you dragon-faced, poison-needle-wielding hylek-fiend…" She pummeled his chest with her fists, but her strength was fading and her eyes had taken on a greenish tinge. When he reached for her injured thigh, she scorched his hand with a flame-blast and tucked her arms protectively around her drawn-up knee.

"You need to relax." Ffeldy trailed his fingers down her uninjured leg, then up again. All the way up. "Let me help you."

"Oh. Gods, Von." Atalanta's voice lost its hysterical edge, and she loosened her defensive grip. "I want to trust that you know what you're doing, really—"

Ffeldy leaned over and kissed her, feeling guilty for this semi-deception. But he couldn't see any other way besides force. She kissed him back with cold, dry lips and gradually unclenched her injured leg. He waited for her to close her eyes, then gave her thigh two necessary jabs of his needle in quick succession.

"OW! OW! May the Void take you!" Atalanta planted her palms on his chest and shoved him away. Fire erupted from her hands, but this time Ffeldy was ready with a cooling elixir atomizer. The flames died with a hiss.

"If the rest of the jungle didn't know you were here, they do now." Ffeldy fought to keep his professional composure. "But it doesn't matter. I'm done with the needles. I can see the poison fading. Just lie back and relax while I bandage you up."

"This is just what I deserve for kidnapping you, of all people." A warm glow slowly returned to Atalanta's body as the poison deactivated in her veins. She lay staring up at the tent ceiling with an odd grin on her face, stroking Ffeldy's knee while he painstakingly secured a bandage to her abdomen. "I know how to pick 'em."

A pleasant giddiness overwhelmed Ffeldy, and he figured he was grinning like a skritt with a glitterbomb. "I did my medic training at the Crown Pavilion, during the Queen's Gauntlet. From concussions to bone breaks to poisonings, I can treat it."

"That's not what I meant, exactly," murmured Atalanta, holding her leg at a convenient angle for Ffeldy to wrap the wound site. "But it's certainly a bonus." She pulled on her shirt, arranging the tight fabric to hide her upper bandage.

The cogs in Ffeldy's head always spun at inconvenient times, making intuitive leaps across random inputs. Atalanta had barely saved herself from several treacherous falls. Thunderbreaker's wing-shaped fin had slowed his own fall, had almost allowed him to control it. He remembered the luna moth catching an air current into the sky. Think how much easier Maguuma would be to navigate that way.

"I know. I can make you fly," he blurted out loud before he realized it.

Atalanta's eyes widened. She raised her hand to Ffeldy's cheek, then pulled him close by the lapels. "That's a strong come-on from you," she said, her dark eyes inches from his and her voice registering disbelief. "But this is hardly the time."

"That's not what I meant." Ffeldy dropped his eyes in embarrassment. "I mean, I'll build you literal wings. Imagine gliding across the ravines like a luna moth. Stepping from tree to tree in barely a blink. You could drop down on that Coztik tree-house from above, then fly away before they have a chance to reload their darts. What do you think?"

Atalanta's expression cycled through prim dismissal, confusion, incredulity, and finally landed on dawning realization. "You're still that Claypool butterfly collector lad, I see." She laughed. "It's your lucky day. I'm both intrigued and out of alternatives." She sat up facing him and crossed her legs, taking care to keep the injured one on top. "But can you sneak me out of camp without anyone noticing? I…think I'm still too weak to conjure mistform for more than two seconds."

Of course the Commander had neither interest nor time for a rest. Ffeldy considered urging her to put her feet up for an hour, but he could tell from the set of her jaw that she would brook no argument. Instead, he produced the little gyro from his pocket and flicked it with his finger until its miniature propeller kicked in and it hovered in the air between them.

"Well," he said dubiously, "I have this. And I can spare a drop of Elixir S. If my calculations are correct, a little stealth can go a long way. Stay close to me if you want to stay hidden. Although," he added after a pause, "I really don't think you should be embarrassed about giving up, just this once. You're allowed to have flaws. People fail. But not letting that faze you makes you resilient, too. Others will respect that."

Atalanta shook her head. She drew back, intent on fixing her braids. "I wouldn't expect you to understand. Come on, let's not waste another second in this claustrophobic tent."

"I can't watch." Atalanta shielded her eyes as Ffeldy ventured out onto the precarious wreckage. He could glimpse the gaily colored noble tents in the valley far below. "Please don't take stupid risks. I've taken enough for the both of us already."

They had climbed to the highest point above the camp, a rocky spire that impaled the charred, skeletal remains of Thunderbreaker. The lethal curl of one massive Mordrem vine still clutched her by her metal ribs. Warped struts creaked under Ffeldy's weight; the structure groaned but held fast. He knelt and pressed a palm against one of Thunderbreaker's steel bones, stroking it like the head of some dying, loyal pet. Then he removed a wrench from his belt and began to loosen the bolts connecting thin, flexible struts to a sturdier plated walkway.

"I'd never really appreciated the scope of the fleet destruction until now," said Atlanta from above. She'd climbed to the tip of the rock spire, avoiding the unstable wreckage, to scour the horizon for clues. "The phrase 'entire fleet destroyed by Mordremoth' is too broadly theoretical to wrap my head around. But give me a panoramic view…" Her voice trailed off on a quaver of emotion. She gestured at the sky. "Some of the wrecks are lodged in the canopy above our heads, utterly out of our reach."

"Not necessarily." Ffeldy fought with a bolt that had rusted tight, putting all his weight against the lever of his wrench. "Not if you think like an engineer."

"I suppose I'm still waiting for you to show me the physical proof of your 'crackpot' idea. Let me know if you need my help."

"I hate to ask the Pact Commander for help—"

"Don't give me special treatment, Von. I'm up for anything. And I owe you, big time. So long as you aren't asking me to kill the spiders in your wine cellar. Or venture out onto that deathtrap you're standing on. Or, you know, get shot at again by poison darts."

"Fair enough." Ffeldy gathered an armful of detached metal struts and retreated from the precarious wreckage to solid rock. "I'll start assembling the frame. Can you cut me some large squares of canvas hull and bring them over? There should be plenty within reach of solid ground. Your wing will need a sail."

"I'm on it." Atalanta unsheathed a dagger.

"Thanks. I'm sorry for making you wait. Your mission seems particularly time-sensitive."

"It is and it isn't," said Atalanta as she slashed her blade through a mass of crumpled canvas. "It's been four days now since the crash. Baroness Jasmina said she's searched the adjacent areas, and the terrain is preventing her from venturing further afield in search of survivors. I have no choice but to go deeper into the jungle myself. But with the terrain, progress is maddeningly slow. At this rate it will take survivors months just to leave the jungle, and even longer to search the gods-damned thing. If you can find a way to help make my expedition more efficient, waiting even a few days would be worth the time I can save later."

"Well, it won't take that long." Ffeldy stood back to survey his work: a steel skeletal frame with a central spine-like keel, ribs that radiated outward, and a control frame for steering. He'd built model gliders before and assumed the design would still work on a larger scale. Now his wing just needed a sail.

Atalanta brought him an armload of Thunderbreaker's canvas hull that had survived he flames, and together they stretched it tightly across the frame."

"Do I get a lesson first?" Atalanta asked as she fitted the finished glider to her back. She looked particularly…commanding in her new wings. "Have you done this before?" She gave an experimental hop down the rocky slope. The wind caught the wing and she rose into the air for a few steps, then landed with a jolt.

Ffeldy grinned, satisfied with the results so far. "Lesson? Well, your glider is an airfoil that generates lift when air flows over its surface, and performance can be explained by the lift-to-drag ratio—"

"I'm sorry I asked." Atalanta shook her head with a laugh. "I'm sure I can figure it out by doing it. Just tell me how I steer. Is there a lever somewhere?"

"No, you'll have to shift your center of mass."

"Whatever that means!" she said brightly. "I think I'll take a running leap right off the point of this mountain."

Ffeldy was glad to see her confidence had returned with a vengeance. "Let me tighten your straps first."

She stood toe-to-toe with him in her outstretched wings while he reset her shoulder buckles—actually it was the harness he'd cut off his rucksack. Her eyes darted toward him each time his fingertips brushed her skin.

"Would you care to give me another kiss?" she whispered. "For luck."

Ffeldy remembered how she'd initiated the first kiss last night. "I still don't understand. Why me, exactly?"

Atalanta shrugged, and her wings appeared to flap. "I guess I'm just a sentimental girl who melts at terrible love songs written in my honor."

Ffeldy froze with one finger looped around her chest-strap, testing its snugness. "But I ripped that idiotic thing to pieces. Threw it away."

"Be careful what you toss into the wind. Especially when there's an elementalist nearby." She detached his hand and gave him a quick peck on the cheek that buzzed faintly with electricity long after she'd soared away on a warm Maguuma air current.