It had taken him three months to craft such a fine tithing for the Lady. He sat at his worktable, head resting on his clawed hand, contemplating over the work he had done. It was beautiful, almost perfect. Well, perfect for what he could do. It was golden, delicate, with sapphires faceted within' it's body - a beautiful broach of sorts for the Lady's hair - a hair-cage. If only he had hair, he could test it out, but the feathers didn't quite work the same. Yes, yes it would do.

He stood on his two feet, and swept down to pick up the delicate trinket, placing it in his silken satchel resting lightly at his side. He swept up his semi-transparent garments, and flipped the end of the long sash over his shoulder, which fell like a cloud down to the nook of his arm. With every step he took, the garment flowed behind him like a mist - and every step he took over the marbled mosaic road caused his claws to make a light "clinking" sound - echoed in turn by the bells that hung off his waist-sash.

It was a long walk to the center of the city, but he dared not fly - not quite enough room between the buildings - asside from which, he (like most) found it quite rude to the Lady - if you were to make the journey to her temple, you should take the effort to walk, and fully enjoy the sights of her city's beauty. And that's exactly what he did.

He marvled at the pale blue, teal, and white marbling of the mosaic tiles beneth his feet - the intricate designs that they made - the pearlescent sheen over every piece of stone. He looked to the horizon, and marvled at the sunrise - the beautiful hues of pink and lavendar that painted the sky. He smiled at the thought that from here, he couldn't even see the land far below. He looked at the towers all around him, the tall pillars, collumns, and archways. The pyramids guarding almost every doorway. He stopped to touch the flowering plants of the gardens that lined every single edge of the roadway - the curling fronds of the ferns, the delicate vines of the white berry-producing Lady's Pearls.

He heard a familiar chime-like sound, and looked to his left, seeing a sentry's trusty companion, a Torstea - a delicate creature formed by the Lady, and for the Lady's people. No doubt it would serve him or her in their pilgramage in the world below. Poor creatures, never knowing the blessings of the Lady. Oh, how he wished he could have one though, but it was not his place to want - they were given to those who served the Lady, and only those... did he not serve? One day, he had hoped and prayed that she would notice his tithings, his devotion, his want - and she would smile upon him so he could serve her better. That's all he wished, was that so much to ask?

Ah - he'd arrived. The line. As it was every day, the line leading up to the temple was long, snaking it's way through the streets, each person of the city anxiously awaiting thier turn to bow before the Lady - most carrying some sort of tithing for her. With all of the tithings, surely there would be no more places for her to put them - and her temple was certainly not cluttered, he wondered often what she did with them - but it was not his place to wonder, for she had powers beyond even his most wild of imaginings.

There was a woman standing in front of him in the line, and having little else to look at asside from the city he'd already stared at before - or the sunrise which was quickly turning too bright to stare at, he contemplated her instead. He smiled inwardly at himself at her form, and knew that the Lady knew what she was doing when she saw fit to bless his people. Her feathers were soft on the inside, and sharp at the edges - almost like a hawk. They were a dusty brown, with red at the tips - and she saw so fit to decorate each and every one with feather-dye, making an intricate swirling pattern of red to match the tips, making her look even more delicate that he originally thought. Her beak was curved at the tip, and deadly-sharp, her eyes the color of spun gold, and her wingtips folded over one another quite neatly as she stood there. On her head, clipped to the feathers there, she had a delicate piece of jewelry - and he wondered what her tithing must be, that could be more beautiful than that.. more beautiful than her.

He shook his head to clear his mind, it was not his place to think of such things - he'd yet to even earn the direct blessing of the Lady - he was not satisfied with himself yet, for as his Lady sought perfection, so did he - and as he had yet to achieve even something similar to it, he was not yet "good enough" to have such thoughts - he was not worthy. Oh, Lady, perhaps today would be the day.

When he finally did reach his turn at the temple, he passed the deep blue stone, like sapphire, polished to a mirror-like finish so
that he could see himself as he walked - the flecks of silver in the stone looked like stars. He smiled to himself at it's beauty, and concentrated on the floor, following the golden line that led up to the Lady's throne - he dared not look up to her, he daren't not offend. Once he reached the symbol of the sun, he kneeled on the floor, spreading his wings out wide, and low, letting them drape like a great cloak across the floor - begging her to remove them should she deem fit, his head hung low, his brow touching his knee, and both hands firmly planted on the floor to balance himself.

"My Lady." he whispered, not wanting his voice to break her thoughts.

He was going to reach into his pouch, and immediately pull out the trinket to leave at her feet, stand, his head still hung, and turn to take his leave of her has he had always done since the day he was old enough to come to the temple on his own accord - but today, it was different. Today, he heard a voice.

It was soft, and beautiful, a almost a trill within' it, like the sweetest of doves, "Your consistancy is comendable..."

That was when he was caught off guard, and he glanced up at the source of the voice, he couldn't help himself - and he silently cursed himself for it - looking back to the floor, keeping his beak shut and hoping he had not offended too greatly. But the deed was already done, he had seen.

The vision of them was burned into his memory, and he didn't even want it to be removed. Like a painting that would never leave - an engraving in the stone on every home's empty side, the murals that depicted their devotions. She was like nothing he had ever seen. She was... almost human. And the one who had spoken to him was the Zephyr, the wind - the voice. She was the one of his
people who had been chosen to stand at her side always - he had known of her... the white falcon. The hound sat at her right, almost as sharp as the Zephyr. If he had looked longer, he might have seen the spider perched upon the throne somewhere, but he didn't - he knew she was there though. The avatars of the Lady - how had he been so stupid as to look at them!

"You know," the voice broke the silence again, a light chuckle in the air, "you are one of the few so humble... what did you bring today, Kholu?"

He reached into his satchel now, and pulled out his trinket, one one hand proud of the fact that it's sapphires matched the floor on which now he kneeled, and cursing himself silently for not having worked on it longer.. it was not yet perfect. He laid it on the floor in front of him, and sat it directly in the center of the sun's mark.

Then he felt it while he was distracted with his movements. A hand upon his head. He knew it wasn't the Zephyr, and he wept silently. She loved him.

"Go now," the voice spoke again, "you've a duty awaiting you."

He bowed even lower, stood, turned on his heel, and strode again across the temple's great hall toward the exit, pride swelling in his chest to the part where he felt as though his heart would burst. And standing there, waiting for him, for HIM at the entrance to the temple, was a Torstea - it's rainbow-like hide shimmering in the sunlight that filtered in through the great archways. It chimed at him, a series of noises that pleased the ear, and he couldn't help but to smile. As he strode past it, it turned without word, and followed him - for the Lady had given it to him.

The Sentries, Crusaders, and Pilgrims all met with him with open arms - and they dawned him with his own equipment for better serving the lady. The Legatus strode up to him, and handed him a curled scroll, his very first orders. It was time it seemed, for him to see the Land below. He wondered what it looked like - he'd heard of trees - trees that grew from the ground - and numbered as many as the feather's on a man's back. He heard of creatures that burrowed in the ground, and never knew to stride above it. He heard of stones the size of a hundered cities combined, and bodies of water that stretched as far as the sky itself. He was proud,
and very afraid.

His first orders, as it would seem, were the orders of a Pilgrim. They were simple, and non-combatant. He was to travel down to the land below, and observe the world. Should he perform in combat in a way not befitting of the Lady, he would be banished. He would be sure to only defend himself - for one day, perhaps one day he would become a Crusader - and there would be a time for combat.

He watched the Crusaders as they suited up, they had already given their own tithings in a different way - for they no longer needed to enter the temple for the Lady to know their love - they only needed to kneel and pray (most had their own altars for her tithings and devotion). They dawned their armor, mounted their steeds, and took off to the sky - their steeds bounding on the air almost effortlessly as they strode toward the land far below. There was corruption below they had to clense, and they would do so with the fury of a thousand storms.

As for him, he mounted his own steed - the feel of it foriegn beneth him, clutched his new gear, and held onto the steel-like mane of his mount as it bounded off in it's own direction - taking him to strange new places. It would be at least a year before he would see the city again - and as the Lady had need of him, he didn't even stop to say goodbye.

This was the happiest time of his life, and he was excited already when he could return, to tell the fellow Sentries of his service, and kneel before the lady again.

-----

Across the street, from her own marbled yard with it's carved stone garden, Aulaa stood and watched as the devout left for the day. It wasn't often that new devout were chosen, but when they were, she always rolled her eyes and shook her head.

Reaching up, she petted the head of her faithful companion, the Skeel - she named hers Tooka. Tooka was a much better pet than those great Torstea anyway - at least her Tooka could fit in her house! She finished her chores of plucking the ripe berries and nuts growing along her side of the road, and placed them in the ivory basin to go on her table for dinner later on.

Before she left her house, she knelt briefly at her shrine for the Lady, lit another stick of insence, cleaned off the ashes from the old one, and added a single one of the ripest berries as a tithing. It wouldn't be there when she got back, it never was... Was it the Lady? Or had Tooka simply eaten it? Silly little Nautilidae, he was always causing mischief. Now that her devotion had been performed, and her tithing had been made - she touched her brow for the Lady, and left the house to go to work.

Not everyone could spend so much time in devotion - and she hardly had time for lines. A woman had to sleep after all, and she had to work as well - somebody had to make new clothes, do the pottery, mason the stone, go down to the world below for new skystone! She was a humble woman for sure, but she had work to do! Surely the lady, of all people (if one would dare compare her to a person) would understand that - the city doesn't build itself!

She passed by the line of hopefulls, and tried to ignore the Crusaders as they rode off with their mounts, armor, and glaives - and silently prayed to the lady as she went to walked toward her place of work.