Creatures of the Sky
A/N: A very, very long time ago, BellatrixTheStar asked me for more of Khonat, the character from my story Crown of Life. For those who haven't read it, Khonat is a winged creature with a body as large as a bear, and he is the last of his race. His race lived high in the trees, and died because of their own mistakes and choices.
And yes, it's another LONG one. It got away again—what else would you expect from a story about creatures of the air?
Khonat was flying again.
The Narnian sky, often clear, a brilliant blue with a young golden sun, existed in beauty. It should have filled Khonat with joy, making him feel weightless. But it pierced him instead, making his heart heavier than the stone he once had been. For Khonat flew alone.
Khonat perched alone, slept alone, lived alone in the house in the Narnian tree that was far too near the ground. The trees of his home were taller than Cair Paravel, but the one time Khonat had flown back, King Edmund going with him, Khonat had not been able to fly past the piles of rubble that had once been his kin. Living in a graveyard hurt worse than living in solitude.
So Khonat flew in silence.
Or almost silence. He heard a sound. It was a strange sound, barely audible, a weak chirp of Mama!
Khonat dived. He avoided the branches he once would have crashed through, flaring his wings out just before he hit the ground, and landing as softly as an autumn leaf. He looked around, in the green grass overlaid with shadow and light, and the bottom of the trees that were barely taller than he was.
"There," a whisper behind him said, and one tree branch bent down, the bunch of leaves at the end pointing to a tree with a small hollow at its base. "We cannot persuade her to come out."
Khonat walked, light-footed for all his weight, over to the hollow that was smaller than his paw. He listened carefully. The sound had stopped.
So he sat, carefully placing himself a few feet away from the trunk, and looked back at the tree with the Dryad's face fading in and out of the trunk. "It is a baby bird?"
"Yes. It was flying quite well, but then it hit one of the branches of my tree."
Khonat thought for a moment. "Did it seem to enjoy its flight?" The Dryad nodded, and Khonat settled into the grass. "The sky is blue," he began, in the soft, deep voice with which his kind had once recited tales to their children. "Not the deep blue of the sea, which can pull you down, but the bright blue that all water mirrors, that fall into the eyes of the Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve and colour them. There are no clouds, but there is the sun. It lights up all the blue and, if you are high enough, its light reveals the wind. The winds are gentle today, brushing each feather when you are still, but rising gently to the sky. It is a day for flying." He saw a small black beak pop out of the hollow, surrounded by some bright reddish orange. It was followed by round black eyes in a fuzzy tan-coloured head. But the body stayed inside the hollow, so he continued speaking. "I love to fly. I love the muscles that stretch in my wings, the way it feels when each feather spreads, but most of all I love to rise, to soar, and to watch things below pass quickly as I live in the sky." The entire head was out now, cocked to one side, so the little black eye could see him better. "I love the trees as well. When I land on the branches of my tree, I know I am home." The thought of his lonely home sprang to his mind, and he forced it away. "The roof is covered by green leaves, and the light and shadows play on the floor. I am safe, up high above the forest." At the word safe the little bird hopped out of the hollow. "Hello, there. Do you also like flying?" he asked her gravely.
She nodded. "But I got hurt. I fell. I'm scared."
"If birds fall, they must learn to get up again. The sky is always waiting." Very slowly, he reached out a paw, laying it on the ground beside her. "Would you like me to take you up there, little one?"
She twisted her head nearly upside-down, looking at his paw. "You won't let me fall?"
"I will not let you fall."
She came right-side-up again, and hopped into his paw. He got up slowly, raising his paw as he did, and turning to the sky. He nodded at the Dryad, brought his paw close to his chest, and launched them both into the air.
He flew through the tree branches, ducking and dodging, always keeping her close, till moments later he burst through the crowns and into the sky. Then he flared his wings, feeling for the wind, and they drifted.
It was then that he heard her laughing, in high, peeping chirps. "We're so high! We're so high! I can see everything!"
He laughed with her, holding his paw out as far it could go, so she would not be caught in the backdraft from his wings, and he felt her tiny paws close around the fur of his finger. "Can you fly, little one?" Her laughter stopped, and he began circling. "I will catch you if you fall. I promise you, you will not crash to the ground." He kept his arm level, far out from him, and watched as she slowly, hesitantly, spread her wings—and jumped.
She tumbled in the winds and he dropped, both paws cupped beneath her, but she righted herself before she touched them. And she began to soar.
"I'm flying! I'm the one flying so high! I can see! I can see the forest! I can see our tree! I can see the sky!"
Khonat could not help laughing, his own heart lifting. It did not matter the race, apparently; all children said the same thing when they flew high enough to belong to the sky.
"Ikirru! Ikirru!" called voices from below, and Khonat looked down, still smiling. Two Robins were riding the wind up to where Khonat and his friend flew, and the baby chick greeted them with happy chirps.
"Mama! Papa!" She tilted her wings and flew down to them, Khonat dropping to fly beneath. Just in case.
The two adult Robins circled around her, scolding, chirping, and beginning to guide her down to the forest. Khonat flew below them till they reached the top of the trees, and then watched them drop into the forest cover.
The loneliness hit him harder than it had before. He turned to go—to Cair Paravel, perhaps, or to fly above the mermaids, or to be anywhere but the place where others should be but weren't—only to be stopped by the sound of small wings, beating the air to gain height. Moments later the mother Robin flew beside his head, or tried to. His head, so close to his wings, had too many crosswinds, so Khonat landed on the closest branch that would hold him. The mother landed across from him.
"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" Khonat had to smile; he had learned that most Robin families had their own quirks of speech, and he had heard a male Robin speak in three-repeating sentences often at Cair Paravel.
"You are welcome. Your little one was a joy to fly with."
"Really? Truly? Truly?" The mother hesitated. "It's much to ask, much to ask, much to ask, but we have three chicks, three chicks, three chicks! Ikirru will tell them of flying in the sky, and their hearts will all long for the blue, the blue, the blue! We are not strong enough to lift them up, lift them up, lift them up that high. Will you fly with us, with us, with us?"
Khonat stared at her, at this bird who-who perched in a tree, across from him, who dwelt in them with her family, and who was also a creature of the sky. Who offered to fly with him.
Perhaps he was not so alone.
"It would be my joy," he said. "Where might I find your family?"
A/N: I have always, always wanted to fly, born by the wind on outstretched wings.