What a terrible day for rain.

You don't see the harpies much the next few days. On the bright side, Red doesn't bother you anymore either, and so you can come and go from your circle as you please but you're playing it safe out of habit, only leaving when you need water or have to use the bathroom. You took the liberty of bathing as well, and received a visit from the Twins while you did so. As usual, you think they enjoyed it more than you did. You didn't mind it as much this time though, since it gave you ample opportunity to peer around for a path off the mountain that direction. The good news was that you weren't in any danger of sliding off to certain **** while taking a bath. The bad news was that you also weren't ever getting down that side.

Mama Greywing picked her nest well, it seemed.

Something a little more pressing has taken up most of your afternoon, though. After some careful searching along the cliffs, you managed to collect enough grass to pull the blades apart and start making some rope. Perhaps "rope" is generous; you've made some string, sturdy enough to keep your pants from falling off every five seconds. It won't last forever, but you're not expecting much in the way of heavy wear and tear anyways. Most of your exercise comes with your clothes off... or it did, anyways. You haven't had any "attention" from Orange or Red since they were chastised by Greywing. You're still unsure if they were forbidden just from having sex with you, or interaction in general. Orange gives you a wide berth, but you she still watches you from the cave sometimes, when she thinks you aren't looking, but she's not as subtle as she thinks. You have plenty of practice catching Blue-feather, after all.

You frown, and your hands go still. You haven't seen much of the harpy since Red lashed out at her, only enough to know she was at least physically well. Despite the wall that's grown between you and the harpies, and despite the ones you've been building yourself to stay focused on escaping, you find yourself wishing to meet with her again. First, to thank her. You're not sure how you would, but decency demands that you do so at some point. Looking back, she might be the one you've interacted with the least, but she's also the one who's used you the least.

Second...

"Waa-uhh."

Perhaps it was just your imagination, but you swear... you swear you heard it. And if she was willing to learn, then... You aren't really sure what it would mean. Surely it was important; how, you don't know. But if Blue would try to learn how to speak with you, if she could understand you, it would change everything. Even if they couldn't be convinced to let you go, if they understood you, they'd treat you better, right?

Right?

You sigh, finishing the last touches. Your pants are far from good-as-new, but they're serviceable once again. You tug them on and adjust the fit a little, smiling to yourself when you're done. Between that and another night's good rest, you're feeling pretty good today. Sure, you'd rather be... basically anywhere else. Really, you have trouble thinking of a place off this mountain you wouldn't be willing to go to. But! You're not hungry, you feel pretty good, your pants cover everything again, and your back is feeling better today. All in all-

Pit. Pit pat. Pita pita pat.

"Why?" you moan. "Can I not have, I don't know, five minutes of happiness?" you groan as the sky continues to rapidly darken. Apparently not. You trudge down to the main clifftop, careful not to slip on the rocks. You'd hoped that, being this high up above the clouds, you wouldn't need to worry about getting rained on. Apparently all it took were some bigger, higher, meaner clouds to come and thoroughly ruin your expectations.

You eye the mouth of the harpies' den as the rain starts to pick up. Never before has it looked so inviting, but the thought of running into Red has you rooted to the ground. You might not be welcome inside by any of them, for that matter. Nobody likes having a wet dog stinking up their home. Instead, you turn away from the shadowy cave and follow the side of the rock face. There isn't much of an alcove anywhere, and the ground is anything but dry, but at least it keeps the wind and some of the torrent off of you. You miserably kick away some loose gravel and sit down, tucking your knees against your chest and breathing into your shirt to save some heat.

You'll have to get used to this too, then. Considering the dwindling odds of actually getting off the mountain in the immediate future, you've started to keep track of other little things that might be useful to you. An area near the spring with accessible clay, for example, or a large pile of stone that grows every few days around the other side of the outcrop. The grass is a god-send, and one that you've thought of trying to cultivate just in case your only option for escape ends up being making ropes for the next year or two.

You shiver a little. Maybe building something from the clay to keep yourself dry and warm should take priority. Ropes won't do much good for a corpse. You'll need fire to make clay, and the issues of fuel and permission have both been hovering at the back of your mind. Fire could also mean signaling, but you suspect Greywing would see through that trick faster than anybody on the ground could do anything about it. Simple weapons are off the table for similar reasons, not that you're in any shape to fight.

You sit there head down in your thoughts, letting the rain run down your neck and back, soaking your hair, your shoes, and your ass. As the puddle underneath you continues to rise, you wonder idly if the better drainage away from the wall would be worth the exposure. As the occasional shivers turn to a constant tremor, you decide to check. You rise to your feet, feeling your clothes hang heavily from your body as you stomp forward, blinking drops of rain from your eyes as it runs down your plastered hair and over your brow. The stone here is damp and the wind is stronger, but at least you won't be swimming in the damned rain anymore. You sit down, tucking up in on yourself again, and wait. And wait. And wait.

The storm doesn't stop.

Despite the steady downpour, you're only half-conscious when you hear the chittering. Fierce words, distress, and Red's distinct rolling growl. It's an awful sound, one that doesn't fit a bird, but at least it serves as a warning for you. You pull your head from between your arms, looking through the haze at the cavern. Orange is standing there, her eyes pitiful as she looks your way. She turns, and you see her wings flare as she squawks back at her sister. Red comes closer, enough to make out her outline, but you can't hear their voices anymore. Whatever she says, it's enough to make the other harpy wilt. Orange stands there in silence long after Red retreats back into the cave, and when she looks back at you, your eyes meet. It's harder to make her out now, but you think she flinches.

Then she too is gone.

You try to feel a little gratitude regardless.