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 Bird-folk usually gather in small groups of mated pairs, which may be paired for life (leaving the survivor to remain celibate or commit suicide when their partner dies) or may be a pair of serial monogamists (always in a single relationship, but unafraid to move on to a more interesting mate). They have a high rate of twins or triplets and are frankly abusive to them most of the time, but God help whoever else who tries messing with a Wing-Folk's kids. Bat-folk are far more communal, and their low birth rate and even lower rate of children showing the Gift mean the community will lay down their lives to protect their young. Every Wing-Folk thinks itself the alpha of its own group in a fashion, the one with the most force of personality acting as the true leader until someone gets sick of their shit and overthrows them.
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-> Stereotypes\\  Man: Man is a mere page in the vast tome of our people's history.\\  Mages: They could achieve more if they weren't afraid to get their hands messy. True magic requires sacrifice. (Hahaha, ahaha, ha.)\\  Vampires: No good for food, no use as servants. What use is something undead?\\  Werewolves: What have we to fear from creatures bound to the earth?
+Stereotypes\\  Man: Man is a mere page in the vast tome of our people's history.\\  Mages: They could achieve more if they weren't afraid to get their hands messy. True magic requires sacrifice. (Hahaha, ahaha, ha.)\\  Vampires: No good for food, no use as servants. What use is something undead?\\  Werewolves: What have we to fear from creatures bound to the earth?
+</blockquote>
 The first breed are the **Gente Alada**, the Bright Assassins, and these guys are rad as fuck. Their animals are the quetzal bird and the hummingbird. The book mentions a Guatemalan tale that the quetzal bird used to sing the most beautiful song in all the world, but when the Spanish conquered the Americas, its grief caused it to only sing with harsh screams from then on. Once its people are free from the oppression forced upon them, it will sing its song once more. Its shock of red feathers on its chest comes from when it dipped itself into the blood of a fallen Mayan warrior prince who fell in combat with the Spaniards. Huitzilopotchli, god of war and the sun (also known as that charming fellow who Aztecs chopped out hearts for), called souls of warriors who died in battle, women who died in childbirth, and people sacrificed in his name to be part of his retinue in the Sun for a time, then released the souls back to the Earth in the form of butterflies and hummingbirds.