The winger Neine Chirak could have told you that, if she'd known the words.  She didn't, so she called the humans stuck-up cows.   The two descriptions weren't all that different anyway.

In any case, when one is born with wings flying becomes rather boring at best.  Awful, at worst... during the lean days when one is forced to perpetually circle the wilds just to survive on scraps.  And make no mistake - during a not-quite-war like this times were very, very lean.  If she could just stop flying... it was so fatiguing...

 Forget the refreshing feeling of the wind in your face - those updrafts could be a bitch if one's angle wasn't nigh perfect.  Not to mention the infinite capacity of shoulder muscles to burn in protest at the thought of one more wing beat, or the gnawing emptiness produced by the dread partnership between lack of food and necessity of travel.  Wingers were hungry not just by lot, but by metabolism.  Or at least those in her position were - flight takes alot out of a girl. And patrolling this area day after day after day was so mundane...  But then she didn't have a choice, did she?  If only she hadn't been so stupid, so careless.. tone false move and the others would know how pathetic and talentless she really was.

Oh, certainly they were nice enough ot her face.  Some scrap of kindness must live behind their harsh facades to overlook her imperfections so.  Who was the one bringing in the most potch at the end of the day?  Not always her.  Who was the one with the flawless aim?  Not her.  Who was the one with the perfect body built for entrapment? Definitely not her.  They couldn't possibly not suspect how the failure that infested everything she touched...

Suspect.  That was the key.  If they ever saw her truthfully - in the harsh bright glare of righteous self-analyzation that she cast on herself each day - then they would have to understand.  That'd have to.

And she couldn't let that happen.  For there was nowhere else to go.

The winger Neine Chirak, as ranking member of a moderately successful group of airborne bandits, did not know that words to express that either.  In her line of work on hardly needed them, and the angle of the wind has no language.

Chamberlain -well, formal Chamberlain - Jess Stanton of Muse hated very few things.  He scorned and dismissed most - that was true enough.  But hate?  No.  Hate was a waste of time, twinned partner with love in a cruel conspiracy to distract one from the truly important things in life.  Other emotions could be controlled quite easily, after all.  But hate?  Hate was dangerous, hate was consuming, hate was as blinding as one last longing for a lock of auburn hair...

Jess prided himself on the impeccability of his powers of observation.  As such, the image dissipated from his mind the moment that conscious thought could wrest it to the ground.  Creating an unttainable emotional icon out of a scrap or reality to subconsciously fixate repressed emotion on was not something that he could not possibly be silly enough to do.

In any case, despite a general lack of enthusaism towards all things he judged emotionally worthless, there was one thing that Jess could not help but hate.  This sort of is passion engendered not through the unfortunate consequnces of experience but manifestig itself as an undeniable revulsion ingrained on the soul.

The object of derision was, of course, nature.

It was horrible, absolutely horrible.  He might be surrounded by it.  Disgusting, mysterious substances, and filthy crevasses.  the rotting hulks of tree trunks jutting haphazardly from brush that most would deign to call picturesque.  Idiots.  the only thing picturesque about the dark, murky depths beyond the  bright little willow grove was the beautiful smell of fresh-cut lumber.
And to think that their horrid canopy was full of the types of tiny creatures that just made his skin crawl...

In short, he was so not going in there.

"Sir.. sir, if we enter the woods we'll avoid the local bandits much  more readily..."

"What difference does it make," Jess sulked.  Well, almost sulked.  Maybe not visibly, but in some tiny and less dignified recess of his mind.

"Sir, if you don't mind my saying, we know the geography of the borderlands rather well," as even , measured sort of voice continued.

"Exactly," Jess replied, successfully evading any thoughts of pangs of discomfort caused by an unfamiliar saddle.  He had ridden when he was younger, so it stood to reason that he could ride now.  Only a moron would lose his conditioning so quickly. As such, riding Definitely Did Not Bother him.  Especially riding in the open air outside of that forest.

"So why don't you just take me around this and then we can..."

"Due to our experience in traveling through Highland we have found that the sorts who monitor the areas just into Highland tend to be blinded somewhat by wooded regions."

"I don't think so."

"Sir, I realize that , but I strongly suggest that..."

Humph.  The idiot woman before him was obviously being unreasonable and obstinate.  He'd thought Danae and her partner more intelligent than that.  They were paid very well for their services, Dan they knew it.. although it wasn't as if it was any financial hardship.  Jess had acquired very substantial amount of gold he'd acquired by calling in a slouch favors that would have been destroyed with Muse.  Gold was so much more usefull than idiotic potch - a truly international currency...

Which was why they should be following his orders instead of pointing towards some hell-sent thicket of diseased wildlife.  Well, among other less straightforward reasons, that is.

"We go around," he grated.

Inner vision cleared by the lack of terror induced by grassland, Jess noticed the pair almost imperceptibly sigh as they turned their mounts.  Idiots.  Who did they think they were?

Easy prey.

Time to quite whining.  She just knew that she'd mess this up, but if she did things like she always did maybe it would go alright.  Never, perfect, though.  Never exactly like she wanted them to.  And not perfect translated into Not Good Enough.  It didn't take some cow with fancy book-learning to tell her that.  She would always, always be Not Good Enough.

Nope.  No time for that...

Focus.

Riding into her sphere on a white horse and some fancy looking leathers.  Strange leathers.  Were they from outside of Highland?  It was so hard to tell from the the air..

Headwind.  Damn.

Automatically adjusting to the buffeting breeze common in mountainous regions, the bedraggled young woman kept a watchful eye on her prey.  Stupid, stupid, stupid... if she'd taken a second longer they might have disappeared under the treetops.  Typical, that she would make such an amateurish mistake.  Thank goodness the others couldn't see her constant failure... some force of fortune kept at least that from them.

Blur becomes clearer.  Excellent.

Now would be time for the drop.  Middle traveler was usually the one with cash - a protective tactic?  Irrelevant.  Midrange altitude would make for a quick passover.  Escape above the wood would block pursuit.  There was some kind of bag - target.  Now she just had to wait... wait... wait for the right gust of air and....

Descent.

The wind rushed by somewhat filthy cheeks.  Irrelevant.

Her winds were very tired.  Irrelevant.

her breathing was heavy. Irrelevant.

The final dash did not allow for pacing.

Grab and soar.  A good way to go with no backup.

The target wouldn't know what hit him.

Irrelevant.

It was a nice day.

Jess categorically denied noticing that, of course.  But it was still a nice day.

Sadly, said day was nothing but a shabbily typical day in what was sure to be a monotonous parade of scenic travel.  He should be relaxed, really.. the man hadn't had a span of time to fill with absolutely no work to speak of for years.  But then, Jess had never had a talent for actually being what he should be. Appearance, however, was quite a different matter. 

"Nice day, isn't it?  Almost relaxing for someone like me who's used to being cooped up in the office..." Jess trailed off.

Ugh.  That was overwhelmingly trite.  Necessary, though - if nothing broke the silence between the stamp of hooves he might very well go insane.  How did people stand it - dragging of their mewling brats to just sit beside a beach for a weekend?  What possible appeal could this state of utter uselessness have?  The book strapped snugly within a simple pack on his back would be much better used if not stowed away in necessity of transit.  As for guiding this hulking beast that must serve as a sorry excuse for a vehicle -any moron could do that!  Jess could feel the hours being leeched away from him, his idle brain chafed by it's state of enforced uselessness...

There was nothing to think about.  This was a disaster. If Jess saw his two spies cum bodyguards make lovesick eyes at each other while remaining painfully oblivious such looks receivedany longer he would retch.  He just had to be in the middle of that idiocy on top of everything else, didn't he.

It was official.  The former assistant mayor was going insane.

His horse, as if sensing the sentiment attitude, hesitated slightly.  Nothing a good jerk on the reigns couldn't fix.  Stupid animal.  Jess despised animals - dirty, nasty, slobbering, dependent creatures.  Well, except for cats.  Cats had sense.  You could show a cat where to do it's business and it would do it.  No fuss.  No muss.  No time wasted on some pathetic drooling creature without even the brains to take itself to a predetermined place. The same went for giving it food, or water.  And they took care of themselves.. you wouldn't catch a cat doing moronic things like stopping still when exposed to bright light, or eating just any old rejected meat slop.  Hmph.  Maybe he should get a cat.  A nice, self-sufficient, intelligent cat.  It would be a kind of endorsement of the basic lifestyle.  Yes, yes that might be feasible.

Jess Approved of Cats.

What would a cat cost, anyway?  Well, catgut for bowstrings was about fifty potch. He'd read far too many reports on the subject - the inhabitants of his former supplies department were mind-numbingly incompetent.  Anyhow, it stood to reason that an actual cat would cost less... the manufacturers did have to make some money.  But what if the cats that they used for catgut were inferior quality cats?  That wouldn't do at all.  There was absolutely no way that he would own some moronic, sub-par, Inferior Cat.  Who would he talk to about something like that?  Were there cat specialists?  Some kind of certification, maybe?  Otherwise some moron would probably try and pass off an Inferior Cat on him.  As if he would fall for that.  In fact, the next time that someone tried to sell him an Inferior Cat he'd set up that certification system.  Yes, then he would reap the profits of selling documents for various morons' Inferior Cats.  They would pay him well for their mistake, and it would be a most delicious revenge.  Excellent.  No one tried to sell shoddy, Inferior Cats to Jess Stanton and got away with it. Of course, that didn't solve the problem of finding a non-Inferior Cat, but by then Jess was sure to be more familiar with the topic.  Hmm.  It wouldn't hurt to start now...

"Lawrence?"

"Yes sir?"

"What would you say might constitute an Inferior Cat?"

"Ummm...what?" Lawrence replied.  Slacker.  he had always been somewhat slow.  Fortunately, the confusion in his tone did jolt Jess back to his senses.

Buy an animal?

What had he been thinking!  Ugh.  This was horrible.  How could his thoughts have sunk to such a low water-mark in the annals of stupidity?  Jess Stanton was better than boredom, dammit!

"Nothing.  That was I code I use with a few other colleagues.  Nothing to concern yourselves about."

"Of course, sir," the heavyset rider gave Jess an evaluating look.

Silence. Again. Now what to think about...

That noise behind him would have to do.

Wait... noise?

There was no time to ponder as a winged.. something ripped the bag from his shoulders.

The bag.

Containing the Book.

Ripped off.

And flying away.

Book.

Away.

Flying.

"ARRRGH!  BOTH OF YOU!  AFTER THAT.. THAT THING!"