Documentation: The Beginning She had been reading as of late. Zaria, or, as most people referred to her as, "Teesa", was making sure that she was up-to-date on all information on history. Not many humans managed to try as hard as her to keep track of history, to keep it unbiased. 'History is written by the champions of war....' She wasn't the best historian; she had come to know that in time, once she had been humbled by a human in the same profession. He had credentials, certificates, resumes- he was a real historian, she had realized. She was just a little girl who tried to do what she could to keep the facts straight. Teesa had learned what she could from her father, who still tended to the records. She she had hatched from her pale egg, he had already aged, he was an old man now, and in a few decades, his time would be up. She wanted to make sure that she understood all of her duties before that point. Lost in thought, she was spooked when a stack of papers had been thrown in front of her. "What are you doing when you write these, girl? Your hand writing is appalling, you jump around the subjects instead of putting them in chronological order, and you treat this like a story you can bend to your will! You have to use more restraint. Tell only one side of the story, or tell it all- but don't go back and forth like you're doing now." He hissed at her, hitting her leg with a well-worn book. She had a lot to learn... "Also, stop treating this like some kind of book. You're telling other people's stories. It's not up to you to be creative, just tell it like it is. Not this.... what did you put on this page?.... Ah. Page forty-seven: "We rose from the ashes, like phoenixes, in the age of..." That is no way to put things. Be objective. Narrate, and don't include yourself, "They", not "We", got it?" He cracked again and she nodded quietly. As he walked away, the gentle sound of the movement of his wings rustling put her back into a good mood. She stretched out her own wings and looked around for some sign or idea of a schedule today- and found a small note scrawled out among the mass of papers. 5'o clock behind the bakery The humans would not be pleased if they found out about these meetings. The groups that met together to come up with ideas to approach the government about their rights. They were sentient beings, smart, able-bodied, with their own faults and strengths, just like the humans- she had been going to these meetings for a year now, and her father's reaction to it was nothing but anger and disdain, saying that if she wanted to get lynched, that she should do it on her own time, and not when she was supposed to be dealing with her studies and her work. She gathered her things, packing up a small messenger bag, tied it around her waist, so it rested on the small of her back, and then walked out of the small stuffy building. She spread her wings, letting the tips glide forward and then pushed off with the balls of her feet and her toes, she flapped her wings once, twice, then took off as quickly as she could to the bakery. No one took the lead there, it wasn't a very organized group, but it was progress. It was a place to make ideas. Within moments, she was there, but it appeared that she was early- so she waited to see who would come. Her bright white eyes scanned for people, scanned for anyone who was coming, hoping she was at the right place.