Einar winged a couple big laps around and through the huge trees, relishing the open space. It wasn't that the air was limited at his house. It was on an aerial island, floating in place above a continent, so the sky was his backyard. But there was always judgement whenever he stretched out his wings, the disapproving glances of his parents and constant teasing from his siblings. The looks that said, 'you are defective', 'you are weak', 'how can you be successful if you're deformed like that?'.
But not here. Here, in this strange forest he had to world-hop and fall down a well in the middle of an ocean to get to, her felt free. The air felt like it was caressing him, and the trees were laughing at him, but with joy at his arrival. The little birds darted up to him as if to say hello, chirruping mirthfully. Einar thought he might never go back to his old life.
He did one more loop-the-loop and whipped around a tree trunk as tight as he could before shooting away in a random direction. He poured on the speed, the wind surely making a horrible mess of his untrimmed hair.
He didn't notice the other figures, so far below, appearing mere moments after he had taken off. He missed the stare from another winged person, who didn't know his oversized wings were a fault. He flew into the distance thinking he was alone.
Hive stirred in their rest. They never truly 'slept', but they could slip into a sort of dreamlike resting state, their bodies alighting on the ground or tree branches like a quietly humming carpet. They were woken by a whispering in the air.
The forest was murmuring, as it had not for many lifespans. The air, the other life forms, they were all whispering the same thing to Hive, a message that could barely be fit to words. Whispering that others are here and alone-ness is ending and get up, you must go to them
Hive whirled up, spinning in a cloud, buzzing excitedly. Others? Already? It had only been a few days since the message had been sent out. They zipped away, following the forest's urging to find the newcomers. They had to split a little to fit through a mess of briars and vines and thin saplings. Then they had to take a detour to avoid flying over the dying marsh that oozed toxic fumes like an infected wound. It was more of a swamp now, but Hive could remember when it was soft and green, growing and full of little animals, the air bright and sweet.
Maybe with new cryptids here, the forest could start to recover. It depended on intelligent non-humans to thrive, and the native animals, while more intelligent than the ones found in the humans' territories, were simply not cryptids.
Hive mulled over all the outcomes of meeting the newcomers. How would they communicate when Hive could not form real words? They would find a way, they reassured themselves. They still had almost two days of space to traverse before they would encounter any of the new cryptids. Maybe only one day. It was hard to tell, with the forest's strange speech so muffled under decades of rot and decay. But no less than a day, that was certain. Hive had a long way to go.
