We set down on the outer edge of the island. No defensive formations, no alarm arrays lighting up the sky, no patrols scrambling to intercept us. Just a stretch of pale sand, shallow water lapping at the shore, and beyond it a settlement that looked almost deliberately unremarkable.
The island breathed with life.
Wooden walkways connected low structures built from timber, their roofs slanted and reinforced with bone and feather. Wind chimes hung from posts and eaves, not decorative so much as practical, tuned to shift pitch when the air currents changed.
It was a town, not a city.
Avian folk moved through the streets in loose patterns. Some walked upright with folded wings brushing against their backs, others let their wings remain half-spread, feathers catching the light as they carried baskets, spears, tools. Their clothing was tribal in design, layered fabrics and leather wraps. Spears rested easily in their hands, not raised, not lowered. Ready, but not hostile.
