Riders on the Wind
They come down out of the clouds like slow lightning: six riders on winged horses the color of storm-light, wearing armor made of hammered mist. The leader carries a net that isn't rope at all — it's woven wind, you can see the meadow bending through it.
“In the name of Queen Cirra of the Cloud Court,” the leader calls, “the guardian Seraphina will stand and answer for the missing Pearl!”
“They'll take us to the palace,” Sera says quickly, low, just for you. “The Court is proud and cold, but it is not cruel — and the Queen's word can raise every wing in the sky against Vespera, if we can win it. Or—” her dark eye flicks to the treeline, silver leaves a hundred yards away, “—the Silverwood. The patrol won't follow us under those branches. Nobody sensible goes under those branches.”
The net-rider circles lower. The silver trees whisper. Two roads, Madison, and about four seconds to pick one.