They had seemed like birds from far away, and at first had been a welcome sign of land - for where there are birds, there must be somewhere for them to nest. But as we sailed nearer, and the distant shore appeared on the horizon, green and brown and beautiful after so many days surrounded by nothing but blue and white, the "birds" continued to grow in our vision until they were larger than any bird, and taller, and more muscular.

"Harpies, ma'am!" My first mate, Tal, echoed the call from our crow's nest, putting a hand on the ship's railing. "Shall I tell the crew to load the cannons?"

I put my spyglass to my eye, considering what I saw there - feathered torsos, knife-like talons, wide human eyes over curved beaks.

"No," I said. "Not yet."

"We can't afford to be caught off guard. The legends say harpies are cruel."

"Legends are legends." I lowered my spyglass. "And I see no cruelty in those faces, Tal. I see fear."

"Fear?" Tal looked out over the railing at the harpies. "Of what? Surely not of us."

"Perhaps. Hoist the white flag. Let's see how they respond."

Tal hesitated, but they obeyed, barking orders to the crew and making sure they were followed. The white flag ran up the mast - a sign of surrender we never wanted to use, but hopefully now it would be taken as a sign of "we mean you no harm." If we were the source of the harpies' fear, hopefully they would allow us the chance to prove otherwise. But if there was something else - if their flight was an attempt to warn us away for our own safety - we needed to know that, too. We needed to know if our journey to a free new world had been in vain.