are but two known instances where an earth-bound human won and kept a Lethe’s wing feather. And these are legends unto themselves for the extraordinary feat.
The first instance involves the beautiful Ysanne. Her father, Simon, was traveling home from a great distance and took a shortcut through a high, mountain pass. He slept overnight near the pinnacle of the mountain, hidden well by a thick copse of scrub trees. As he awoke, just as sleep passed from his eyes, he heard the flutter of massive wings. Looking up he saw a Lethe, young and beautiful, land softly nearby and slip into a cave.
Simon held his breath, unseen by the Lethe, hardly believing his good fortune. He waited quietly for an hour before creeping from the copse and leaning over the edge of the mountain to peer into the cave.
It was more a cut into the rock than a cave. But inside slept a male Lethe, as beautiful reposed as awake. Stretching as far as his body would allow Simon reached down, barely touching a lower wing feather of the sleeping form, and plucked it free. The Lethe stirred but did not wake, for though their sleep is rare, it is deep, and hardly anything can waken them once sleep has taken over.
Simon hurried home as fast as he could. There, he could hardly wait to present the rare treasure to his equally beautiful daughter, Ysanne. He bought a silver necklace and attached the feather to the chain so that she might wear it about her. He warned her sternly though, never wear it outside for fear of the vengeful Lethe from whom it was stolen.
To say that Ysanne was a beautiful girl would understate the matter. Ysanne was more than beautiful, she was music and poetry and fine art all made into flesh. People even went so far as to compare her to the Lethe. And those who had seen Lethe women up close confirmed that this was no spurious claim.
As beautiful as Ysanne was, she was also very absent-minded. Perhaps a little stubborn too as she spurned every suitor that sought her hand. For Ysanne had promised herself long ago only to marry one as beautiful as herself.
One night, during a full moon, the absent-minded and conceited Ysanne walked alone outside with her feather on. She turned it over in her hands, marveling at the pristine glow at its pure form and color, perfect white in the moonlight. Only too late did she hear the flutter of wings behind her, feel the hands grab her roughly, and quickly lift her into the air.
Ysanne gasped as the stars rushed towards her. The angry Lethe turned the girl around as he flew, ready to stare wrath into her eyes. But when he looked at her, amazement sunk into him. For there, bathed in the soft moonlight, looked back at him the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
As the Lethe, whose name was Issom, held the trembling girl, she stared back at him equally amazed. Never had she beheld such beauty in her life. He was, perhaps, even more beautiful than herself.
The two immediately fell in love. That very night, without a word between them, they shared their love among the stars and the wind, as is the way of the Lethe. As dawn rose Issom set Ysanne down, kissed gently her soft mouth, and flew away. He never asked for his feather back.
Later that year Ysanne gave birth to a son. Like his father, the boy grew wings from his back. And like both his parents he was exceedingly handsome. He lived with his mother until he was seven, then he flew for the first time and Ysanne never saw him again.
Issom came to Ysanne a second time. Again, they shared their love high in the night sky, as is the way of the Lethe. And again, later that year Ysanne gave birth to a child, a daughter, winged like her father and beautiful like both her parents. At seven years old she also took flight and Ysanne never saw her again.
When Issom returned to Ysanne a third time, she begged that they might share their love on the earth, for she desired a child that would not fly away. So Issom stayed on the earth as he shared his love with Ysanne, as is the way of the ground dwellers. Later that year when Ysanne gave birth to a son, he was as beautiful as his mother and father, but he had no wings.
Now this child, some time after he had turned seven, Ysanne found weeping. When she asked him why he wept he told her that his soul desired to fly, more than it desired anything else, but his poor body would not lift off the ground. Ysanne tried to comfort the boy but found his sadness inconsolable. Throughout the year the boy grew pale and his mother would hear him weeping at night. He would look up to the sky with longing, and whenever a breeze blew by would throw his arms wide as if he could be lifted up on the wind.
Ysanne hoped that after the year wore on the boy would grow out of his despair and quit his dreams of flight. But it was not to be. If one’s soul was made to fly an earth-bound life is pain with every dusty step.
Not long after he had turned eight, Ysanne’s son was found dead at the foot of the town’s watchtower, lifeless on the cobblestone square. Passers-by said they saw the young boy leap from the tower, his arms spread wide as if in flight.
Devastation wracked at Ysanne. She knew then, no matter how great their love may be, that the wind-borne and the earth-bound could never be lovers.
Consumed by grief, Ysanne took Issom’s feather, by which the Lethe could find her anywhere she went, and left it on the top of the watchtower. She moved away to another city and married a farmer. Together they had three children and shared much happiness, though her longing for Issom never ceased.
As for Issom, when he flew down to see his love once again, and instead found his wing-feather sitting atop the watchtower, he too was overcome with grief. Even though the Lethe do not marry, nor do they mate for life, Issom’s sadness was of one who had lost all the he held dear.
Feeling a weight that is rare to the Lethe, Issom lifted off into the sky and took the fabled Sunset Flight. For the Lethe do not age and die as ground dwellers, who perish and are placed in the earth. Instead, the Lethe, after advanced years begin to feel the natural lightness of their being dwindle, and a weight born of weariness takes over. When this heaviness settles into their bones they know it is time for the Sunset Flight. Then one day, after a two day sleep, as the sun descends into the horizon, they lift once more in flight, westward, as if chasing the setting sun. Once the Sunset Flight is taken that Lethe is never seen again. And as far as anyone knows his body never touches the ground. What exactly happens at the end of this westward flight is a mystery known only to those who have taken it.
So it was that Issom, when realizing his dear Ysanne was gone forever, felt a heaviness that few Lethe who were not dying had ever felt. Though he was not dying his heart told him he was, that his sadness was death itself. Inconsolable, Issom took to the skies and soared westward, never to be seen again.
The second instance of an earth-bound man keeping a Lethe wing-feather is a much happier tale. It tells of a man, Armande, who his whole life loved the Lethe and adored everything they did and always sought to do them good.
As a child, Armande had grown up in the hills watching over his father’s sheep. He would spend hours everyday lazing in the grass of sloping pastures, and look up into the sky hoping to spot a Lethe soaring by. Being high up and close to the mountains this happened quite often, and with every sighting he grew to love them more.
When he was old enough, Armande moved higher up into the mountains and planted a grove of Andor trees. As they prospered he planted more, and at first the Lethe were hesitant to come by. But Armande was patient and would leave out baskets of Andor fruit among the peaks by his home. Slowly, the Lethe came to trust him. And eventually even flew down to pick the fruit themselves from his grove. As time passed their trust of Armande grew and many would fly down and talk with him or circle his grove in song.
There are many great stories told of Armande and the Lethe, and how he helped them in many ways. He would shelter them when they slept or heal the rare broken wing. Even once he saved a female who suffered in a difficult labor. Births being rare among the Lethe, to save an infant was an act of heroism.
But of all the wonderful stories involving Armande and his love of the wind-borne, none
eclipses the tale of how he received their wing-feathers.
When Armande was old and advanced in years, he began to feel, as the Lethe would say, the weight of age in his bones. His winged friends could tell how old he was getting, for he didn’t stay out as long to watch them sing nor did he tend the Andor groves as before. They watched him walk with stooped and painful steps, a little slower and more bent everyday. For those who did not experience the years as such, it broke the Lethe’s heart to see their friend suffer.
So the Lethe met in a rare gathering, called a rook, circling high above Armande’s home to discuss what they could do to help the one who had helped them so much. They all knew he was dying, and they could not bear the thought of their dear friend being put into a hole in the ground and covered with dirt. Nothing is more abhorrent to a Lethe than the thought of being buried in the earth.
As Armande lay among his friends and family, knowing that the end was near, a flock of Lethe landed and entered his house. The hushed crowd parted for the beautiful creatures, as much in awe of the Lethe themselves as of what they carried with them.
The elder of the Lethe stepped forward and held in his hands a blanket made entirely of wing-feathers. It took 100 Lethe to