Fly

Chapter 7

The hiking trails near Rib Lake, Wisconsin, were nearly as old as the town itself. 

Lined with birch, maple, and various conifer trees, under which grew numerous ferns and bunches of heather, it was a place I had always loved to wander. Up here, in the north, things begin to feel wilder. The closer you get to the Canadian border, the more original flora and fauna you'll see, and the older the landscape will feel. It was one of the places I had always felt at home in, but now, as a four-legged creature with claws and fangs, stalking through the trees, I didn't just feel at home, I felt a part of it all as I never had before. I could hear every rustle, see every faint movement in the trees. I knew that despite how quiet it seemed, I was surrounded by many, many creatures. Countless mice, voles, squirrels, and other rodents moved through the leaves and underbrush and secret passageways of the woods, their tiny feet pattering over wood and moss alike. Snakes and lizards made faint whispering questions across the dirt, making me feel as if I were listening to a conversation full of secrets from the other side of a door. Overhead, a hundred different kinds of birds chirped, rustled, flapped, and cawed their way through the branches, nearly drowning out the subtle sounds of the lower denizens. And the trees themselves added their own melody, brushing gently against each other, like a master violin player lightly stroking the bow over their instruments strings. 

And I moved through it all, making my own rustlings, hearing the small creatures retreat around my feet, and the birds go silent or call alarms at seeing me. I padded my way between bushes, sliding under low-hanging branches and slipping between brambles like an eel. I sniffed the air, tasting the wonderful scent of northern pine and crushed fern and tree bark and earth. Even colors seemed brighter, more dazzling. I felt as if I were walking inside a painting. 

The next maple I passed, I paused and reached up with my foreclaws, wings half-spreading to keep my balance, sinking them into the bark, stretching and arching my back with a sigh of pleasure, before using my grip to suddenly yank myself upward, pushing off the ground with my tail as I did so, like I did when taking off into flight. I sank my two huge rear claws into the tree like ice picks into a cliff, using my other rear toes to grip, giving me more maneuverability as I crawled upward, tail flicking from side to side.

I reached a large branch about halfway up and looked out over the smaller trees around me. There was space to my back, a gap between the trees that I thought I could use for my purpose. I clambered onto the limb, which trembled under my weight, then pushed off, straight out from the tree like a sugar glider, snapping my wings open as soon as I was clear of the branches and flapping to gain height. I roared happily, surprised at how my throat flexed and expanded to create a massive boom of sound that rattled my teeth as it passed between them. I flipped my wingtips happily through the air, putting more effort into my wingstrokes than was needed, soaring higher as my elation grew. This was what I was meant for, this weightless feeling, with only air beneath me, supporting me. It was a constant battle for survival with every wingbeat. With every stroke I had to win a war with gravity, and I loved it.

Eventually, I reached a lake.

I already knew I could swim and hold my breath for long periods of time, so I just drifted over the water, catching a breeze and watching my reflection ripple beneath me. A Loon popped up in my shadow, then immediately dove back under the water, looking for food. But not before it let loose it's haunting cry, which echoed against the nearby hills. I felt my throat contract as I tried to mimic it's call, making several attempts before it sounded correct. I crooned their song as I glided over the glassy surface, then grinned happily when the diver's mate answered back, thinking I was another Loon. I swept my wings forward and down and flew upward, coiling through the air as I let gravity win for a moment, tilting back and doing a corkscrew limply through the atmosphere. I knew I'd never get enough of this feeling.

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On the way back, I continued to test my voice, mimicking every bird I could hear. I also tested just how much fire I could breathe, and for how long. The jet sprayed fully twice the length of my body, and I could focus it into a stream or out into a wider spray, which lessened the distance it could go. As I went, I learned how well I could fly. I soared and dove, twisted and turned. When I got close to town, I began flapping hard, gaining altitude as fast as I could pump my wings. The clouds looked high and wispy, but I narrowed my eyes against the wind, which was getting colder the higher I climbed, and put all my effort into it.

I climbed for one minute. Then two. Then five, then ten. Finally, after nearly fifteen minutes of flying, the air I was breathing seemed to have turned to shards of icy pain shooting into my lungs. I was blowing smoke with every breath, my inner furnace turned up to max to keep me from freezing. The wind up there was powerful, twisting in different directions like a headless serpent. I was thrashed from first one direction, then another, by what almost felt like solid streams of air that seemed bent on lashing me out of the sky. 

I glanced down, and found myself mesmerized. For the first time, I could see the slight curve of the earth on the horizon, which seemed a deeper blue than I had ever seen. I could see a fuzzy line of dark blue, far, far in the distance, that I guessed was the edge of Lake Michigan. I followed the patchwork of greens and browns and grays to directly below me, where Rib Lake was barely visible as a spidery dot in the vast network of similar dots that made up all the towns, cities, and roads on the ground below. 

I floated, letting the wind blow me like a leaf, riding the currents instead of fighting them, while I just looked at the jeweled beauty laid out below me like a blurry carpet. Then, with a sigh, I let myself drop.