Avara

Introduction

And now, dear reader, we commence the most engaging portion of this volume, the several accounts of the seven species who compose the People of Arborea. Those acquainted with my earlier works will know that the study of living beings has ever been my most ardent pursuit, and Arborea has proved a singular blessing in this respect, for its denizens exhibit such variety and abundance that a dozen lifetimes would scarcely suffice to unravel their intricacies. At every turn they present fresh marvels to delight the inquiring mind. In the present essay I shall set forth my observations upon the Avara, those curious, convivial, and astonishingly nimble wanderers who hold so vital a place within Arborean civilization.

Nomenclature

In naming the Avara and assigning them to their several taxonomic ranks, I soon discovered that I must devise certain categories unknown in the natural philosophy of my homeworld. The first of these is the super-class Hexapoda. This stands parallel to Tetrapoda and, as its name implies, embraces all six-limbed vertebrates of Arborea. Six limbs prove to be the prevailing pattern among the vertebrates of that realm, and all the People who stand within the phylum Chordata are likewise included within Hexapoda.

I then established the class Gryphaviformes, so named in honor of the mythical gryphon familiar to scholars of my own sphere. Members of this class possess two limbs adapted as wings, whether for gliding or true flight, bear feathers upon most or all of the body, reproduce by means of eggs, and exhibit toothless beaked jaws. The Avara and the Bohra alike belong to this distinguished class.

The remaining portions of the hierarchy are, among the People, peculiar to the Avara. Their order, Pteropithekoi, is defined by true flight rather than mere gliding, forward facing eyes, a notably developed brain, and a long prehensile tail. Their family, Manopteridae, is marked by the presence of hands upon four limbs, each bearing four fingers and an opposed thumb. Members of this family show a more upright posture than their kin elsewhere within Pteropithekoi and possess larger brains. At last we arrive at the genus Gregaravus, so named for the intricate social arrangements that characterize its species. In the case of the Avara, I judged that the common name I had bestowed was equally apt for their scientific style. Hence, in the manner of taxonomic presentation, I set forth Gregaravus Avara.

First Impressions

Upon my arrival at Highmarket, our vessel was greeted at once by a delegation of Avara. My companion Odysseus had announced to the People of that aerie that a singular creature had come among them, and their curiosity was roused in an instant. They sprang aloft with a grace that belied their haste and swept toward us in a bright flurry of wings. My earliest impression was of unceasing motion. An Avara is never still, nor silent. They chatter without pause and seem unable to restrain the movement of limbs, tails, or ears. At first I confess that their vigor unsettled me, and I feared that the dozen converging upon the ship might attempt to land en masse and bear us down into the gloomy reaches below. No such disaster befell us. Each touched down only for a heartbeat to examine me, for I was doubtless the most peculiar sight any among them had witnessed. Then away they went again into the air, circling the ship as another descended to take a closer look.

Their telepathic inquiries came with such speed that I, still a novice in that strange medium of discourse, could not form replies before fresh questions pressed upon me. I shrank from the onslaught until one of their number, whom I later named Hector, called out to his fellows and bade them give me space. He was as inquisitive as the rest, yet perceived that I required a moment to gather myself and held the others at bay as we made for the docks of Highmarket.

This first encounter proved a faithful emblem of all my dealings with the Avara. They are impelled by a profound desire to know, to see, and to range abroad in search of marvels. Yet they temper this restless spirit with a gentle regard for those around them. Their communities hold great significance, and their leaders watch over their flocks with care that often extends to any thinking being within reach. To behold an Avara alone means but one thing: you have not yet glimpsed the rest of the flock.

Anatomical Description

The Avara are a six limbed vertebrate, standing on average a span and a half in height and possessing a mass of roughly forty-five tugs. Their bodies are clothed in feathers whose hues vary with age and sex, and may include creams, browns, reds, greys, slates, and blacks. They commonly bear lighter plumage upon the chest, belly, and throat, marked with fine and regular bars of dark brown or black. Their heads are broad, with large forward facing eyes of deep coloration and a prominent hooked beak. From the crown rise their feathered ear tufts, lending them an alert and lively aspect. These mobile ears assist in discerning the direction of a sound, and are almost never at rest.

Each Avara possesses two wings, set high across the shoulders, and four arms that conclude in long fingered hands. Every hand bears five digits, one set in opposition to the others after the manner of a thumb. Their dexterity is extraordinary, and they are capable of the most delicate manipulations. They also bear a long and slender tail, often equal to or exceeding the length of the body, which can be employed to grasp tools or to secure themselves about a branch.

Their vision and hearing are both exceptional, and their range of color perception exceeds that of most of the People, though curiously none can perceive the full spectrum that I myself can see. Their pupils are round and their sclera dark. Like all Arborean creatures, they are well suited to dim light, and are most active in the periods surrounding dawn and dusk, taking their rest in the central hours of both day and night.

The bones of the Avara are of notable strength and are permeated with air chambers. Their lungs are smaller and more rigid than those of terrestrial vertebrates, and are inflated by the action of the rib cage, for they possess no diaphragm. Their musculature is composed of long and slender bundles, and they are stronger than their stature might suggest. I have witnessed an Avara deliver with its wing a blow forceful enough to break a bone, though they generally prefer to wield long clubs rather than risk injury to so vital a limb.

The Avara are omnivorous, though their habits incline more toward the herbivorous than the carnivorous. They show a marked preference for fruit and nuts over foliage, and are far more inclined to set ingenious traps for small game than to engage in active hunts themselves, though this is by no means an invariable rule.

Lifespan and Reproduction

The Avara are neither among the longest-lived nor the most ephemeral of the People, attaining an age of some five score years. They are oviparous, producing clutches of three to five eggs, typically laid at the onset of the wet season, when the flock retires to the hollows of the great trees. The eggs measure less than a third of a span in length and are diligently tended by the flock throughout the season, hatching after one hundred and twenty to one hundred and thirty days.

Parental care among the Avara is exemplary; the young are regarded as the greatest treasure of the flock and are nurtured by all those in their vicinity. Flight is beyond their abilities for the first two years of life, during which they cling to the adults on migrations or toddle about the nests when the community is at rest. The offspring display a curiosity surpassing even that of the adults, and it is a matter of general wonder that any survive the incautious and adventurous explorations of their earliest years.

Mental Qualities

The Avara are creatures of high intellect and tireless curiosity, forever examining the world about them. Like all the Arboreans, they are endowed without exception with telepathic faculty. Beyond this, many display gifts of precognition and of thaumokinesis, the latter allowing for the distinctive somatic magic that is so characteristic of their people. They are profoundly social by nature and abhor solitude; indeed, an Avara would sooner endure the presence of a bitter foe than face an hour alone. Although their telepathic discourse is constant, they are also strikingly vocal, and their spoken tongue comprises an astonishing array of barks, screeches, coos, purrs, chatters, and squeaks, accompanied by an equally elaborate system of gestures made with hands, wings, ears, and tail. To converse with the Avara is thus an immersive undertaking, for one must attend to their projected thoughts as well as to the many layers of meaning carried by their sounds and motions.

They practice a singular martial art founded upon the manipulation of one or more sticks, passed between hands and tail with such speed that the weapons appear to blur. I was fortunate to witness several displays of this discipline, and was repeatedly struck by the precision with which they coordinated their many limbs, striking in every direction without ever endangering their own wings. This art is most often pursued in groups of three or more, who pass their clubs to one another in mid performance so that a participant who holds but a single weapon one moment may find three in hand the next. They adapt these techniques with equal artistry to musical performance. The Avara are the foremost percussionists among the People, capable of sustaining intricate rhythms for hours during the communal concerts that I came to cherish.

In other branches of artistry, the Avara excel at drawing, and frequently produce accurate illustrations from memory after long expeditions into the wilds of Arborea. When at last I set forth upon my homeward journey, I carried with me a folio of their sketches. Alas, this treasure was lost during my unfortunate encounter with a dragon, though that adventure took place upon another world and belongs properly to another narrative.

Social Organization

As I have observed, the Avara are never encountered in solitude and are among the most social of all the People. They arrange themselves into flocks, each possessing a clear yet fluid hierarchy shaped by lineage and by demonstrated capability. A flock is typically guided by three or four acknowledged leaders who are regarded as coequal, though each may hold particular areas of expertise in which their judgement bears special weight. A flock may number as few as fifteen souls or as many as five hundred, though I found fifty to be the most usual count. In the great settlements, such as Highmarket, several flocks coexist, treating one another as genial rivals and competing with unabashed enthusiasm in every sphere of life.

Ascension to leadership among the Avara is an informal and organic affair, resting chiefly upon the recognition of one's peers. Any individual, when asked, can readily name those companions they would choose to follow in particular circumstances, beginning most often with members of their own generation and then extending their preferences throughout the flock. These evaluations shift over time as reputations rise or diminish, and in a contented flock the leaders are apparent to all. Rivalry for authority is the surest sign of internal discord. The leaders are responsible for guiding the flock during their migrations, resolving disputes, apportioning resources, and devising plans for the future welfare of their community. When leaders disagree, their disputes may begin with loud argument and in rare instances escalate to physical conflict. More commonly, however, such disagreements result in a division of the flock, with each Avara choosing to follow the leader whose vision most resonates with them.

Societal Role

Within the wider society of Arborea, the Avara serve chiefly as explorers and foragers. They are the People most inclined to travel from one community to another, and most flocks undertake such journeys every year, bearing with them whatever new tools or techniques they have devised. They press out toward the fringes of the known world, venturing into the wild reaches in search of what mysteries may lie there. They are expert navigators and survivalists, and no prudent expedition into uncharted regions would be mounted without the guidance of an Avara flock.

When settled within a community, they make their homes upon the outer branches, in communal nest-huts built where the limbs divide. In many respects, they are the People least dependent upon the protections of the greater society, and the most accustomed to life without such support during their migrations. Yet they enjoy the company of the other species, and they are quick to value the shelter of the city-hollows during the violent storms of the shifting seasons. Their position on the outskirts of any settlement also makes them its earliest sentinels, for it is most often the Avara who first detect approaching danger and raise the alarm.

Among the other People, the Avara show the greatest fondness for the Bohra, and it is a common sight for an Avara nest to be shared with one of those solitary and nocturnal guardians. The Bohra, for their part, regard the Avara as small and exasperating cousins, yet defend their shared homes with a vigor that brooks no challenge. The Avara, conversely, have the least patience with the deliberate and ponderous Karapax, whose devotion to logic most Avara consider dreary. They enjoy easy relations with both Mycora and Roark, while individual Ceph and Kouatl may or may not form close attachments with them.

Notable Individuals

My greatest friend among the Avara was Hector—the leader of the flock that greeted us upon our arrival at Highmarket. With him and his companions, I travelled hundreds of spans across Arborea's vast treescape. It was Hector who instructed me in the feeding of a Melivorago, rendering it safe to drink from, and who accompanied me to the edge of a yawning gap in the trees, where an ancient Treefall had yet to be spanned by the canopy of a new titan. His courage and nobility were unsurpassed by any being I encountered in Arborea, and his unquenchable drive to explore the borders of knowledge was a continual inspiration to my own inquisitive nature.

Alas, I can no longer visit Hector, for he no longer soars among the branches of Arborea. He has descended into the Webs below, having been slain while defending his flock from an assault by a Feliscyllidae in search of easy prey. Though he and his companions succeeded in driving the fell beast away, his injuries were too grievous even for his considerable magic to mend, and the world was deprived that night of a true hero.

Conclusion

I trust, dear reader, that this essay has afforded you a fuller appreciation of the Avara. In the ensuing section, we shall turn our attention to their closest kin among the People - the formidable Bohra - who vigilantly guard the communities of Arborea against the myriad terrors that lurk in the shadowed reaches of the night.