My Spirit Flies and the Dark Clouds Melt Away...

[demonicbeauty]

It was Ariadne's turn. She couldn't explain how it was that she knew. She just did. There was a thrum in the air that morning when she woke up. Like someone had plucked the string of a lute and just let the note echo into nothingness. Today would be the day of her First Flight.

Ready or not.

The First Flight was a rite of passage for young Alastrians, going back and back and back, who-knew-how-many generations. The first time a child stretched their wings and took to the sky. Or, more likely, plummeted down into the underbrush and scraped every single appendage. Ariadne, her brothers, and her sisters had heard the story of their father's first flight time and time again. He could remember every excruciating detail, pointing to each of the bones he'd broken as he hit the ground. Only about half of hatchlings managed to fly their first try. And it hadn't escaped Ariadne's notice that three of her brothers were limping and one of her sisters had a lump on her forehead, the size of an acorn.

And now it was going to be her turn. She knew it with every fiber of her being. Which was probably why the first thing she did that morning was climb a tree and tuck herself into the V, formed by the trunk and a middling branch. There, she waited. For the inevitable. For the moment when her mother would land on the branch beside her, folding her enormous, black wings behind her back.

Ariadne's mother, Rotspine, was a tall and sinewy woman with leather-rough cheeks and tumbling cascades of pink hair that fell down her back in knots. Her skin was a darker green from the others, from all of her time in the sun. While her mate, Feofan, remained on the ground, tending to the children's daily routines, Rotspine monitored the skies, flying in broad, sweeping arcs over the canopy of the jungle, looking for any sign of trouble. As far as Ariadne could tell, the only thing she could ever see up there were the birds, but Rotspine insisted that there were dangers in the world beyond the safety of their little haven.

"What are you doing up here?" Rotspine asked, crouching on the branch, with her arms out in front of her for balance.

"Waiting for you," Ariadne replied.

Rotspine pursed her lips. "You're so like your father."

Ariadne could never decide if that was a compliment or a criticism. Everyone knew, of course, that Rotspine and Feofan loved each other with everything they had. But they were also complete opposites. Ariadne didn't know anything about falling in love, but she found it astonishing that two people so fiercely different could make it work. Or maybe that was why it worked. She really couldn't be sure.

At any rate, Ariadne didn't reply. She didn't know how. And with her mother, it was generally easier just to wait.

Rotspine briefly cupped Ariadne's chin. It was a cursory display of affection, before she reached back to run her fingertip along the leading edge of Ariadne's right wing. The bones--soft since her birth--had hardened over the last few months. The spines of each black feather getting tough. She'd outgrown her baby fat and her baby wings. "Then you know what today is?" she asked.

"My First Flight?"

"That's right."

She nodded gravely. "I'm ready," she said, standing up. To be honest, Ariadne wasn't sure if she was ready or not, but she knew that was the kind of thing her mother wanted to hear. She spread her wings, letting the feathers reach out as far as they could go.

"Oh, no," Rotspine said, standing beside her.

"No?"

"Not from here."

Ariadne frowned, a little crinkle forming between her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"This branch is much too low." Rotspine pointed up. "No. Start climbing."

"But--"

"Up, up, up."

When her mother said something three times, you learned not to argue. Swallowing back her protests, Ariadne grabbed a higher branch with both hands, scuttling up, using the soles of her feet to give her a little boost against the trunk. She started to rise, but her mother shook her head, pointing again. Higher up. So Ariadne climbed up another branch. And then another. And another. With each one, she looked down, hoping that Rotspine would nod in approval. But she didn't.

The branches got thinner. The daylight more golden. And soon, Ariadne broke through the canopy.

She'd never seen the sea before, but this was sort of how she imagined it. Rolling hills of green, all around her, no sign of land in any direction. When a breeze rippled the leaves, she thought of waves. The way her father told it, they were like the breath of the ocean. As if the water was truly alive.

As Ariadne wriggled her wings free of the trees, her mother broke the surface of the canopy beside her, looking around with a vague nod of approval. "Yes. This will do."

"But it's so high."

"That's the point."

"What if I fall?" she asked, thinking of her brothers and sister.

"Then you fall," Rotspine said. "And pick yourself up and do it again."

"Why can't I start on the ground? Where it's safer."

"Because," Rotspine said, with a look of irritation that told Ariadne she wasn't the first to ask. "Life isn't safe. Life is dangerous. And if you don't reconcile yourself to that fact now, you'll grow up to be a fool."

Ariadne still wasn't sure what a 'fool' was. But her mother used the word so often and with such venom that she figured it had to be something bad. Something she didn't want to be. "How do I begin?"

"Just jump."

Jump. Ariadne looked down, but couldn't see the ground. Her body told her it was far below. And there were enough branches beneath her to bruise every part of her. "I don't know if I can."

"Jump or I'll push you," Rotspine said. Not a threat. Nor a kind offer of help. Just a fact.

One Ariadne didn't doubt.

Flying was essential to the survival of Alastrians. It was the best way to get away from danger. And the fastest way to warn the pack of what was coming. Ariadne had always known she'd take to the sky one day. Even looked forward to it. But in the moment, she doubted herself.

"Jump," Rotspine said.

"I know."

"Jump." She stomped a foot, making the branch wobble.

Ariadne held her arms out to either side for balance. "I'm going to!"

"Jump!" Rotspine herself jumped, expertly landing on both feet, sending a shockwave.

So, Ariadne jumped.

She spread her wings as far as she could, just the way she'd seen her mother glide. But she wasn't gliding. She was tilting forward, falling into the leaves. She squeezed her eyes shut, ready to hit the branches.

But she didn't.

The wind caught beneath her wings, and suddenly, she tilted up, propelled in the opposite direction. She opened her eyes as a rush of air hit in her face. A little shriek managed to escape. But she realized it was too soon to celebrate. There was more to flying than just stretching out. She had to flap her wings.

At first, it felt very clumsy and awkward. She pumped both her arms and her wings at the same time, and started jerking violently up and down, bouncing over the trees and nipping stray leaves. She felt her stomach drop out from under her and was afraid she was about to plummet. She braced her arms and that seemed to help.

All right, just her wings.

She gave a slow, languid push. And the air seemed to do the work for her. Shooting up in the sky, she cut through the sunlight. It all felt so free. For the first time in her life, she wasn't tripping over roots or jostling for position with nineteen other hatchlings. She was alone in the open air, with a world all to herself. Pumping her wings, she went higher still, tilting to the left, to curve in a wide circle. Around and around, gliding back to where she began. At least, where she thought she'd began. There was no sign of Rotspine.

Was she waiting for an inevitable fall? Or leaving Ariadne to discover the world for herself? Maybe both. Right now, anything felt possible.