When they heard the cry and the crash, all the Nereids came to investigate. They found a winged youth had crashed on their island.
His wings were complex, mottled in brown and white and gold, and utterly shattered. It was clear that the boy was dead.
“Is he some sort of harpy? I thought they were all women,” one said.
“No,” replied another. “Look, the wings are artificial. They’re stuck to a wooden framework with wax. I wonder where he came from.”
“Who cares where he came from. Just get him off of me,” snapped the Nereid he’d landed on.