"Are you going to swing?"
"She's scared!"
She wasn’t. High in an ironwood tree, Tanna could see most of the northern half of the county’s capital city of Ellandare. “Am not!” her voice cracking just at the end. Ziplines crossed the Kypiq copse, forming streets, intersections, and alleys--their existence forcing the city’s youth to discover the ‘joy’ of heights both quickly and early.
The dare, then, had to exceed public transit. It was for this reason that Tanna was clutching a vine some hundreds of meters above the ground.
"Tanna, get down," her brother called out.
The others laughed. Changing her grip, Tanna stepped back and leapt out into the soaring heights. Instantly, a rush of air set her hair flapping, her tunic encasing her with a pulsing rhythm. She grinned and opened her eyes, welcoming the sting brought by the winds of her adventure.
Down, down, down, the buildings rushed toward her, adding an urgency to her flight; her target, a huge bay window, loomed. The next moments screaming an answer to the question whispered by her fall.
Joining the laughter, Tanna let go of the vine, her trip across the museum’s floor more a tumble than a roll. Confident her injuries were only scrapes and bruises, she looked for a clue as to which exhibit she had landed in...
Smiling, Tanna recognized artifacts of the Cregannan incursion. The post-war wing. She had already learned the cautionary tail of the Mad King, Xeilias. Everyone had. His vile atrocities had poisoned the world, birthing warlords like Victor von Mordrake, ambitious and cruel. She continued, remembering her challenge: steal the rare glider from its display.
Tanna tiptoed through the dark, spotting a comically oversized saddle. The Neran invaders had been giants, their mounts even more so. From their vantage point in the forest’s canopy, trison saddles served as a reminder that the armies of Ellylon had weathered the worst. Hulking cavalry like the trison were powerless against a county whose forces ranged the forests like birds of prey. Punctured by arrows, the exhibit earned a smirk from Tanna as her eyes scanned past.
"Anyone there?!" A voice called out. "Who's in here?"
Uh-oh. Tanna dove to cover, her attention locked on the glow of a torch. A surge of adrenaline caused her to shiver, her palms clamming as her breathing quickened. She crawled along the floor, minding her surroundings; “the saddle, a Cregannan officer’s sword, a box of sweets… a coin from the Xeilian Empire?” She froze. “I’m moving backwards.” Tanna rolled behind a Neran vase and waited for the guard to pass, his sword gleaming.
Tanna squeezed her eyes shut; willing her mind to work faster.
What she really needed was a miracle. Her thoughts wandered to bedtime stories of the Trail of Treats--an embarrassing simplification of the methods used by the earliest Ellylonian settlers: marking safe trails in times of danger and war with discarded candies, ensuring even the youngest children would follow them to safety.
Snapping back to reality, Tanna realized that the torch had passed her, clearing her own path once again. Sprinting, she noticed that the hall’s candles had all been lit. Stealth was becoming less of an option.
Along the walls, decorations for the Ellandaren Unity Festival were cast in a now-macabre light. Green and yellow lanterns taking on an unfamiliar sense of danger; their typical use serving as the county leadership’s near-constant reminder that ‘fostered cohesion’ was the main reason for Ellylon’, and Ellandaren’s, continued success.
Grinning, Tanna arrived at the Moshkin exhibit, a celebration of the kypiq’s feared aerial warriors. The glider, a dull brown beneath the blue Lunalight, was prominently displayed under a large landing port in the ceiling. Mocked to scale, the light from the port chased away the orange glow from the wall sconces.
Glee transformed her sprint into an excited skip. She chuckled, victorious, admiring her prize. “I win.”
"Stop!" yelled the guard. "Stop! Put that down!" He raced forward.
She strapped the device to her back, the harness made snug around her chest. It was built for her. Running for the nearest window, the wings extended, slowing her. The glider’s design would definitely serve an escape.
"No!" said the guard, "don't you dare!"
“Poor choice of words,” she thought.
“No!”
Jumping, she banished every doubt she’d hidden along the way. Now the wind was her savior, its familiar whip nearly drowning out the whoops and hollers coming from the trees above.
Smiling broadly, mischievously, she repeated, “I win.”
