They followed a sort of twisting path through the valley, though the boy had the distinct feeling that it was not much used–presumably, because few who lived in the hidden village had much need of walking long distances. When the group drew close to the shadows of the first great house-tree, Fleat turned aside and made for it. He paused when he reached a set of small, scrabbly hand-holds and tiny steps that were cut into the cliff.
He cast an appraising eye at Dapplegrim. “Your talky-talkity horse isn’t going to be able to come up with us, no-ever-way, no.”
Caewen craned he her back and considered the climb. “I don’t know if I can make that climb either. I’m not feeling at my best. Where are we going? Are you wanting to show us something? Take us to someone? Take us somewhere?”
“The Grand Old Grey Head lives here. It’s him who watches the turn of clouds in the sky, and reads the flights of birds for the village. If anyone knows anything about your white-deathlies, or your King in the Winter, then it will be him. And he will want to know about you, too also, and also.”
“He couldn’t perhaps come down here?”
Fleat shook his head. “He ain’t no-never coming down. He was never a feather-skinner to start, and he can’t but hobble now. He’s tree-bound, as we say.”
“Not a feather-skinner… what does that mean?” asked the boy. “Cannot all of you change into birds?”
“The magic of the bloodlines–” Fleat seemed to consider how to explain himself “–it isn’t as strong as it once was. It weakens. It skips a child, or two, or ten, more often than it used to.” He shrugged. “Or so, all the ageds say, and say. I’m the only one of me brothers and sisters who can change. All of them others of me kin, they are earth-heavy, ever and ever. Utterly earth-heavy.”
“I see,” said Caewen.
The boy felt a sudden pang of sadness for these creatures. He watched a few black shapes outlined against the bright cloud-painted sky, and he wondered if once, long ago, there had been dozens or hundreds of wings beating and gliding and flapping, not just the handful he could see. “I can go with Fleat,” he said, “that is, if you want to wait here and rest.” Though, as soon as he said it, he felt a little unsure of himself. “But I don’t know what to say, or ask, if I did.”
“No, that’s alright, child.” Caewen smiled. The boy felt an irrational warmth at that. It felt as if she were a big, fearless sister. “We’ll both go. I’ll climb too.” She considered the cliff again. “I’ll just take my time. It looks as if there are places to rest along the way up?”
Fleat nodded with a brief, sharp jerk, just like an owl.
Before they started the ascent she turned to Dapplegrim and tangled her fingers in his mane, softly. “You’ll be alright here?”
“Yes.” After a long pause he added, “which is more than anyone will ever say about these creatures if any harm comes to you.” He looked pointedly at Fleat. The skinny boy shifted on his feet uncomfortably. He said just softly: “No trick. No trap. No harm. I promise.”
The boy believed him. There seemed to be something just too plain and wild and unsophisticated in his airs. Or, maybe it was only because Fleat was a boy too, and children are good at reading lies in other children. Whatever the deeper reason, the boy did feel some trust for the wild creature. He looked at Caewen and Dapple, then ventured to say, “I think he’s telling the truth.”
Caewen held her words and her thoughts for a long time. Eventually, she said, “I do too. So, now what?” She put her hands on her hips and tilted her head even further back. “I suppose we climb?”
“Now, we climb,” answered Fleat. He sprung at the cliff, jumping and leaping so that he skipped the first four or five of the footholds entirely. Then he began scrabbling himself upwards.
“”You’d best go next, child. I really do feel worn out. Bleed dry, even. If I’m in front and I slip, or even if I need to rest for a bit, then it’d be best if I weren’t in front.”
“I guess so,” said the boy, not feel very certain at all. He walked to the cliff and could hear Caewen following a few steps behind. His heart was beating hard in his chest as he gingerly felt the holds and tiny cuts that made up the near-vertiginous stair. He was sure he could feel the eyes of Caewen and Dapplegrim boring into him. And though he knew they weren’t waiting to watch him fail, he would have felt terrible if he tried to climb and slipped immediately, or became too scared to go on. “Let’s do this,” he said under his breath, more for himself than anyone else, and then hissing through gritted teeth. “Up. Up.” He swung a leg onto a ledge and pulled himself up by his arms. He looked upwards. Fleat already seemed a long way ahead. There was nothing for it but to climb and trust to careful fingers and luck.