The Sapphire Peaks stood at the northern part of the continent, to the west of the great bay that carved out such a significant portion of the landmass. Dozens of peaks, permanently wrapped in cloud, extended from a plateau that itself stood high above the plains beneath. There existed few land-based paths that one could take to reach the plateau from below, but that mattered little to the residents of the Sapphire Peaks, who didn't require paths to begin with.
On the cloud-wrapped peaks themselves, the harpies made their nests. With their taloned feet that were not geared for walking, they rarely mixed with the more land constrained races, preferring to keep to their homelands. Not that they would turn away any visitors who did manage to climb the near-vertical spires, and many a dwarf and demon had made the difficult journey to get a taste of their famous cloud-wine.
The plateau itself held a hundred intricately networked lakes, filled by the waterfalls that endlessly cascaded down the peaks, which in turn were fed by meltwater from the snow that descended from the permanent clouds. From above, the lakes glittered like the area's namesake sapphires, the gentle wind at ground level causing just enough ripples for them to sparkle in the sunlight. Between the lakes were great misty rainforests, tall trees shrouded in a perpetual light fog. These forests were the home of the fairies, the second of the winged races, who took great pride in the beauty of their homeland.
Within one of the harpy nests, in a room strung with fire and ice crystals to carefully control the temperature, a massive egg rested on a blanket. Even a regular harpy egg was large, given that the young who hatched were almost the size of human babies, but this one was a size above even that. Despite the obvious care with which the egg was placed, a network of small cracks was visible on one side. Around it stood three harpies, two of whom showed expressions of great concern.
"But it's too early!" said one. "Our child shouldn't hatch for another couple of weeks."
"Are you certain our child is in no danger?" asked the other.
The third understood the pressure of being a new parent well and smiled gently at the panicking younger couple. Ah, to be young again, he thought. "I am certain that your children are in no danger. I'll remain just in case, but I expect them to hatch safely within the next hour."
The new parents didn't miss the emphasis.
"Child...ren?" asked one hesitatingly.
"What?" asked the other, looking rather stunned.
He couldn't blame them for not noticing, or never questioning the larger than normal egg, although he was frankly impressed that the mother had laid it without requiring medical attention afterwards. When had the last pair of harpy twins been born? It must have been almost a century ago. Well, here today, the record would be reset.
Over the next couple of hours, tapping and scraping was heard from the egg as the cracks grew wider. It took longer than the healer had predicted, but eventually the shell collapsed, leaving a pair of damp baby harpies, their talons as yet ungrown and their wings covered in a downy fluff instead of feathers.
The reason for the delay was obvious the moment they came into sight, the twins' arms wrapped tightly around each other in a close embrace. They'd managed to break their shell with wings and feet alone.
The twins stirred, too young to open their eyes, but able to flex their legs, arms and wings.
"Ah aa," babbled one.
"Eh," answered the other.
"Aww," said the mother, not managing to be much more comprehensible than her new children.
"How beautiful," said the father.
The healer agreed, but was more impressed that the babies had made any noise at all. Aside from the usual screechy cry, anyway. Quiet babbling noises weren't the sort of thing babies should be making on their first day, especially given that these two had hatched prematurely, but they were already a once a century occurrence, so what difference did one more point of strangeness make?
He gave them a quick check-up, but aside from being smaller than normal, the pair seemed completely healthy. Happy that the hatching had gone well, he spent a few more minutes to get them cleaned up before leaving their nest, letting the joyful new parents spend some time with their newborns. No doubt their smiles would fail quickly once the endless crying started, especially since they had two of them to deal with, but that bit wasn't his problem.
The Sapphire Peaks stood at the northern part of the continent, to the west of the great bay that carved out such a significant portion of the landmass. Dozens of peaks, permanently wrapped in cloud, extended from a plateau that itself stood high above the plains beneath. There existed few land-based paths that one could take to reach the plateau from below, but that mattered little to the residents of the Sapphire Peaks, who didn't require paths to begin with.
On the cloud-wrapped peaks themselves, the harpies made their nests. With their taloned feet that were not geared for walking, they rarely mixed with the more land constrained races, preferring to keep to their homelands. Not that they would turn away any visitors who did manage to climb the near-vertical spires, and many a dwarf and demon had made the difficult journey to get a taste of their famous cloud-wine.
The plateau itself held a hundred intricately networked lakes, filled by the waterfalls that endlessly cascaded down the peaks, which in turn were fed by meltwater from the snow that descended from the permanent clouds. From above, the lakes glittered like the area's namesake sapphires, the gentle wind at ground level causing just enough ripples for them to sparkle in the sunlight. Between the lakes were great misty rainforests, tall trees shrouded in a perpetual light fog. These forests were the home of the fairies, the second of the winged races, who took great pride in the beauty of their homeland.
Within one of the harpy nests, in a room strung with fire and ice crystals to carefully control the temperature, a massive egg rested on a blanket. Even a regular harpy egg was large, given that the young who hatched were almost the size of human babies, but this one was a size above even that. Despite the obvious care with which the egg was placed, a network of small cracks was visible on one side. Around it stood three harpies, two of whom showed expressions of great concern.
"But it's too early!" said one. "Our child shouldn't hatch for another couple of weeks."
"Are you certain our child is in no danger?" asked the other.
The third understood the pressure of being a new parent well and smiled gently at the panicking younger couple. Ah, to be young again, he thought. "I am certain that your children are in no danger. I'll remain just in case, but I expect them to hatch safely within the next hour."
The new parents didn't miss the emphasis.
"Child...ren?" asked one hesitatingly.
"What?" asked the other, looking rather stunned.
He couldn't blame them for not noticing, or never questioning the larger than normal egg, although he was frankly impressed that the mother had laid it without requiring medical attention afterwards. When had the last pair of harpy twins been born? It must have been almost a century ago. Well, here today, the record would be reset.
Over the next couple of hours, tapping and scraping was heard from the egg as the cracks grew wider. It took longer than the healer had predicted, but eventually the shell collapsed, leaving a pair of damp baby harpies, their talons as yet ungrown and their wings covered in a downy fluff instead of feathers.
The reason for the delay was obvious the moment they came into sight, the twins' arms wrapped tightly around each other in a close embrace. They'd managed to break their shell with wings and feet alone.
The twins stirred, too young to open their eyes, but able to flex their legs, arms and wings.
"Ah aa," babbled one.
"Eh," answered the other.
"Aww," said the mother, not managing to be much more comprehensible than her new children.
"How beautiful," said the father.
The healer agreed, but was more impressed that the babies had made any noise at all. Aside from the usual screechy cry, anyway. Quiet babbling noises weren't the sort of thing babies should be making on their first day, especially given that these two had hatched prematurely, but they were already a once a century occurrence, so what difference did one more point of strangeness make?
He gave them a quick check-up, but aside from being smaller than normal, the pair seemed completely healthy. Happy that the hatching had gone well, he spent a few more minutes to get them cleaned up before leaving their nest, letting the joyful new parents spend some time with their newborns. No doubt their smiles would fail quickly once the endless crying started, especially since they had two of them to deal with, but that bit wasn't his problem.
