"Angle your wings more," Ignitus called from below, watching Spyro's performance attentively.
The dragonling complied, and once more attempted to complete the regimen. Flapping strongly, he rose to achieve the required height, then plunged down at a ferocious speed. Then, at the critical moment, he pulled roughly out of the dive and backwinged up to level flight.
"Better," Ignitus said approvingly, gesturing that Spyro might land.
Panting, the dragon landed, chest heaving from the effort. "Why does…why does it have to be so complicated?" he gasped, wings drooping.
Ignitus bent and gave him an encouraging nudge, "it becomes much easier once you have grasped the basic elements. It is essential that you perfect these maneuvers; they may be save your life one day."
He chuckled at Spyro's skeptical look, knowing that he would come round eventually.
"But Ignitus, what if I can't get the hang of it?" Spyro pressed, "my wings feel like they're about to drop off."
"You are not used to flying, that's all. Had you known what you were immediately from hatchling, I'm sure you would have strengthened your muscles trying to fly before you were ready, as most dragons do." Ignitus had an amusing memory of his own pre-flight attempts, and smiled inwardly, "Although…they were not usually taught these skills until after their combat training." He purposely didn't add that the main reason for this was to get rid of their baby fat prematurely. In war, they could not afford to wait until hatchlings reached the point where their natural pudgy softness would just disappear, though he could never quite rid himself of anxiety for sending dragons that young into battle. With Spyro, though…they didn't have enough time to run him through the courses, and definitely not enough time to wait until he reached adolescence, a process that would take at least six years. He would just have to learn to fly with the extra weight.
Sparx, hovering from a middling height to watch his adopted brother's antics, asked sardonically, "And that's gonna help him fly how?"
"Sensibly, Sparx, sensibly," Ignitus replied wryly, winking at Spyro when the dragonling made to protest. Understanding brightened the young dragon's face, and Ignitus said glibly, "Now, if you would try that again, Spyro?"
On whirring wings, Spyro rose to once more attempt to complete Ignitus's instructions, shooting a sly grin at Sparx, for the dragonfly appeared distinctly uncertain and confused, obviously not understanding what Ignitus had meant by his answer. At a signal from the great red dragon, Spyro swooped down, this time stretching his neck out further, and raised the wing dipped to the ground to rise up. Seized by an inspiration, he increased his speed, shooting like a cork out of a bottle straight up into the sky, and at the peak of his pace, he suddenly flipped backwards in a tightly controlled loop, pulling his wings close to his body, and fell like a stone in the sky, eyes narrowed with intense concentration, spreading his wings a metre from the balcony and swerved back up. He barely heard Ignitus's startled exclamation, for the high pitched whistling in his ears nearly deafened all other sound.
When he dropped back down to the balcony with a soft thud, he stared defiantly up at Ignitus, knowing that he would likely be reprimanded for not listening to instructions, and was determined to endure whatever Ignitus was going to say to him.
But to his evident surprise, a broad grin broke on the old dragon's face, and he said, "That was some of the best flying I've seen from a learner. However," and Ignitus's tone was stern, "that does not mean you can skip the basics."
"Okay," Spyro said, but was not particularly regretful. Disobedient or not, that flight had been fun.
The following nights saw Spyro practicing secretively, with only the moon and the night birds witness.
End