Fly

Chapter 8

Have you ever had a dream of falling? One of those where you flail around helplessly for what seems like hours and seconds at the same time?

Air whipped past me so fast that ice formed on the edges of my scales and along my wings, despite the heat that I was emitting. The smoke from my nostrils spiraled away behind me so quickly that it was invisible to me, though anyone watching would likely have seen something resembling a jet's vapor trail appearing in my wake.  

Inside my mind, however, the calm excitement that I had been feeling was rapidly devolving into panic. I had felt more animal than human for most of the day, a primal hunter, ruler of the skies. But now, my human side suddenly felt like it was separating, it's fear taking over, the sheer panic of a creature that was ordinarily flightless, telling me that I was going to die. 

My eyes snapped open, then immediately closed my clear second eyelid as they dried up almost instantly. All I could see was a fuzzy blur of green and blue and gray below, with the outlines of fields and forests and lakes the only things to guide me. I fell, frozen with increasing terror, gaining speed as the ground seemed to leap closer with each beat of my heart. The feeling that this was all a dream intensified with each moment, as did the abstract knowledge that I would hit the ground and.... wake up. 

Directly underneath me, the familiar outline of Rib Lake came into view, the long, curved shape suddenly coming more into focus, the surface an unyielding iron gray. It looked just as solid as metal, too. I knew that if I hit that, at the speed I was going, I would die. I closed my eyes again, my mind full of nothing but the lack of air in my lungs and the ringing whine in my ears, and the knowledge that the rapidly beating heart in my chest would stop in just seconds. 

Out of nowhere, a massive gust of wind slammed into me, flipping me so that my wings caught the air, instinctively snapping open like an umbrella in a storm, straining every muscle and tendon so that all I could feel for several seconds was a sharp aching throb up and down my spine. Most of my wings went temporarily numb. 

I felt myself slowing, however, and angled forward, lessening the pressure on the flight membranes as I turned my awkward descent into a shallow dive. I shot out over the lake, heading rapidly for the trees on the opposite side, still 'falling with style' as I grimly tried to wrangle my fear, regaining control over my limbs in the process. 

As I evened out, still over a quarter of a mile up in the air, I flapped a few times, shaking blood back into my wings, which throbbed and wobbled with each beat. The wind that had tumbled me over continued, more gently now, to push me forward steadily like the calm summer current of a river. It was warm, and smelled faintly of blackberries and pines. I swung around, back toward the forest, my wings still feeling like they were made of paper and noodles. 

When my feet finally touched back on the ground near the trail, I gasped in relief, crouching and hugging the heather and ferns with all six limbs, tail coiled tightly by my side. I laid there, eyes shut tight, for several minutes, before climbing back to my feet and folding my wings, like a windblown seagull.

The woods around me were quiet, with only a few cicadas humming in the trees, and a couple birds calling in the distance. The trees rustled a little in a breath of wind, then fell still again. It was a hot day for northern Wisconsin, and even in the shade I could feel the heat pouring down, like someone glaring from behind a pair of sunglasses.

Raising my head, I sniffed the air, the scent of hot leaves and bark, of crushed ferns and trampled heather, all mixing together into a peaceful, calming aroma that banished the last traces of fear from my blood and shakiness from my limbs. I glanced around, double-checking that nobody was there, then sat on my haunches, tail laid neatly around my feet, and began to concentrate.