Port

They drifted over the upper city and the lower city, past the Bridge of Virgins, following the river down to the harbor. War galleys slept there, and merchantmen with lateen sails, feluccas and fishing boats and dragon ships from distant lands. They flew over a proud ship lit with lanterns, where slave girls danced on the decks to the music of pipes and tambourines. They turned south, skimmed over the dunes of the shore and on across the marshes, flying high enough to see a swath of white sand on their left and the Bay of the Moon dark beyond. They flew, and the sky began to lighten and the stars faded, and still they flew. The marshes stretched out ahead of them to the horizon. Her body ached, and her eyes were sore from the constant wind. They began to pass over clusters of stilted huts. There were men in long narrow canoes, casting nets, who paused to look up as they flew.

Dream time

She clambered onto the parapet wall and looked down, eighty, ninety feet, to shadowed stone. She took a deep breath, and jumped. Oh shit I'm falling I'm going to die! Her body clenched from groin to throat. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't throw up. I did it wrong why did I trust him I'm sorry I'm so sorry help me oh God please help me--

And then her wings opened and caught the wind.

Thank you, thank you....wow.

She tossed her head back and thought Up! and the wings beat, lifting her. She thought about landing on the roof she'd just jumped from, at least long enough to steady herself--she was still shaking, and nauseous--but the owl man cried "No, don't land! Rise up, rise up!" She rose, suddenly weary, and followed him.
As they floated over the city's towers, he named them for her. The one that looked like a half-melted white candle was the Tower of Art. The slim brown one, atop which sat a man with a long sword laid flat across his wrists, was the Pillar of Autumn Mandolins. Soldiers paced on the dark square walls of the Fortress of Night.