One Word Prompts

Injured - The Leap

He looked over the edge of the platform, flexing his wings in the breeze.

It was a good day for it, flying. The light breeze that floated through the treetops would be enough to help fill his wings on takeoff, but not so much that he would have to fight it when he was in the air. It wouldn't disturb the thermals either. And it was such a sunny day. He was sure the thermals were to die for. He could imagine the waves of updrafts rising from the dark stones at the base of the mountain.

It was a good day for it.

He looked over the edge again.

Maybe he should start from the south platform, though? He stood on the north platform currently. It was the lowest of the three platforms attached to the hospital. For that reason, it was also the least frequented, which was why he had picked it. He hadn't flown since the accident (he flexed his wing again, reminding himself it was whole and healed now), and he had wanted some privacy to protect his dignity as he got back into the hang of it. He had not picked it because if he couldn't get the hang of flying again, it wouldn't be as far to fall. Definitely not.

But, now that he was here, he was reminded what poor clearance there was around the platform. The nearest tree practically hung over the launch area. More twisting branches poked up from below. Because it was the least frequented, it was also the least well maintained.

No, this would not do. He folded his wings flush with his back, shaking his head. The south platform was very open. More trafficked, true, but definitely no hazards in the path of takeoff. And, so soon after healing, he didn't want to risk breaking his wing on a low hanging branch.

He climbed up through the hospital, smiling at the nurses as he passed. They all knew his name at this point.

"Going for it today?" one asked as he passed.

"Its a good day to try flying again, don't you think?" asked another.

"Finally giving it a go?"

He smiled and nodded to each, just as he had the day before.

He should have just taken off from the lower platform. He stood on the south platform as he thought this. Not because it was so, so, so high. That was dumb. He was a proud member of the Silver Wing clan, one of the people of the air. They didn't fear heights. They were masters of the sky. They built their houses in the tops of trees and the sides of unscalable cliffs. They touched the stars with their wingtips and caressed the moon in their outstretched hands.

So, no, he wasn't rethinking taking off from here because it was so high.

He wasn't regretting moving up here because all the nurses had seen him walk up here either. That might only be a problem if he chickened out (again) and went back inside (again) without trying to fly (again). And he was not going to do that. This was the perfect day for flying, as he had said earlier. His wing was strong again. He flapped it experimentally. It felt good to have air flowing through the long feathers again.

There was no evidence of the fracture, which had left him bound to the ground and the platforms of the hospital for the past year. No bone stuck out of the soft tissue that held his wing together. No blood poured around him as he lay in a broken pile on the forest floor.

He shook his head. He was healthy. He was strong. He would fly again. There would be no crashing into the ground. No falling from the sky. No losing control and dropping like a rock.

The doctors had assured him he was just fine. He stretched his wings again, and they agreed. He'd done his exercises. They'd had him do some liftoffs inside. He'd done it. He could hop from platform to platform with short bursts from his wings. He had passed all the little tests with flying colors.

He was fine.

He stepped up to the edge. He shook his head. Nope. Nope. Nope.

Again, not the height. That wasn't the issue. Definitely wasn't the issue.

It's just, his wing. It was starting to feel a little sore again. Maybe he wasn't ready just yet. Better not to injure himself again, especially when he was this close to the full recovery.

He turned away from the edge. Maybe tomorrow he would be well enough to do it.

He knew he had said that yesterday. That he had said that the day before.

He knew there was always something.

The doctors had told him to take his time. He'd been through a lot. It wasn't trivial to learn how to fly again. It wasn't trivial to jump back out there, to trust the wind and the air after they had let him down once.

He stopped in the center of the platform.

He could keep walking, could go inside and do some more practice exercises with the doctors and nurses. It would be safe. No one would think less of him for waiting another day, even if he probably, physically, could do it.

The wind whipped around him suddenly, blowing through his hair and pulling open his wings unbidden. His feathers fluttered in the wind, making him promises he had forgotten it could make.

He found himself turning around. One foot found itself in front of the other, each step longer and faster than the previous. Without thinking, without looking down, he leapt into the air, his shadow leaving the platform below him.

For a moment, there was only panic. Only falling.

But the wind gusted again, filling his wings. He beat down on the air instinctually, feeling the way the air flowed through his feathers.

A whoop of joy flew from his lips as he floated through the air. This bird flew again.