ORIGIN - i dream of the sky

White was almost three cycles old now - she had grown up a lot. The little pinfeathers around her wings had blossomed into huge, pearly-white feathers and she had almost grown to fit into her over-sized bird feet.

....almost.

White had long considered the possibility that she wasn't supposed to walk around on four legs - surely, she had wings for a reason. She had seen her mother (who only had two feet) flutter around with her own wings, but she had never been told how to use hers.

She had lived for almost three cycles now. She had to learn immediately how to fly.

She could move them. Surely, that was a start. She could twitch them, or fold them, or extend them out as far as they would go. In fact - her morning stretch routine involved stretching the feathery appendages out as far as they would go.

Which surely meant - this wouldn't be hard at all!

The little hybrid braced herself, wings stretched out upright as she tried to recall what the little crow did. She would move so quickly - wings fluttering like bee's wings instead of an actual bird - dipping up and down with the weight of her own stone.

White wondered if she'd have that problem, but regardless, she began flapping her wings frantically in an attempt to lift herself off the ground.

She was airborne! She was flying!

.. Oh god, she was flying!

The hybrid began kicking her legs frantically, eyes widened in fear. She was only a few feet off the ground; but still White was concerned about not being able to feel solid ground under her paws. With wings beating even faster, the hybrid making a frantic attempt to stay airborne.

Alas, White's airborne adventures fell short.

And so did she, with a heavy thump.

Black watched from the shadows of a nearby ledge where he'd been dozing. His daughter was leaping, feathered wings twitching. For a moment--a brief, beautiful moment--White was airborne; then she crashed, tumbling down.

She was no longer the newborn that needed him to check on her at every moment, but this was an important step for her, he felt. Silently he rose from his place, ready to pad over, to snuffle her and ask if she was all right--but she was nothing if not tough. He lowered himself back down as he realized she was not badly injured, and instead focused on his magic. He tried to call a dozen shifting shadows: gentle renditions of Eve, the crow, dancing and lifting off along the walls in imitation of birds' silhouettes.

It was an encouragement.
You can do it. Look at them, all around you; it is your mother, and you are her daughter. You can fly.

It was also a reminder of just how it was done.

Look how they beat their wings like fluttering hearts, just so. Pump, swish, gasp... fly.

Unfortunately he only managed the barest breath of darkness, the faintest hint of a shadow, before it faded. So he called out, instead.

"Try again. Do not let fear hold you back. You almost have it."

Okay, so his voice was a disembodied set of words drifting out from the darkness, but White probably wouldn't mind.

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