Leonardo's Flying Machine

[animalgoddess]

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His legs were moving as fast as they can, his lithe body flashing through the forest.

Thump-thump-thump-thump…

His heart was beating a mile a minute, paws kissing the ground ever-so softly before cutting through the air once more.

"I can do this," he thought, ”Today, I’m going to fly…!"

Vibrantly hazel eyes locked onto their target: a large platform atop a small cliff, below it a herd of pine-trees. With deadly precision and concentration, the young wolf’s legs chained themselves to the ground before instantly launching himself over the ledge and into the air.

”I’m flying!” his thoughts following were filled with pure ecstasy, ”I’m really fl—“

Before he could say anymore, gravity dawned on him just as logic and reasoning came crashing down along with his body. Falling with short momentum, the wolf’s body collided into several pine-branches, prickling and picking at his skin as he bounced off into more wood and pine. His body collapsed on the ground with a muffled “Oof!” as the breath was knocked out from the wolf’s lungs.

The so called “flying” wolf lay there for a moment before giving a rough blow upward to a twig that landed on his snout. Pulling himself up, he emitted a groan before sighing and shaking his fur, ridding it of the twigs, pine-leaves and dirt that clung on. “Who am I to be called Sparrow?” he sighed aloud.

Sparrow pouted and thumped his rump into the ground with disappointment in his failure. ”It was a stupid idea, anyways. I mean, birds have wings, wolves don’t! It’s unfair how they can just flutte—

Eureka!”

“I just need some wings!” he said, grinning sheepishly as if the whole thing was obvious and he missed it. The pup gave his famous wink, one he always did when he had a new idea. Springing back up to his legs, Sparrow left the cliff and the scene he caused there, and entered the woodland area behind it. Sticking his wagging tail up, the pup shoved his nose to the ground and began a trek towards where he hoped to find a bird’s nest and its feathers.

It may look odd to anyone who saw such a wolf, covered in pine-leaves, dirt and excitement; but then again, Sparrow never really did care for what others thought of him.

Speech
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Everything Else

[zephyr]

Zephyr trotted leisurely through the wooded area, expertly ducked the low hanging branches, and flicked his ears as he listened to the singing of the birds that darted in the branches above his head. The dense forest reminded him of home, which was strange, because the trees that blotted out the midday sun were distinctly different. Their bark was darker, their bristled branches longer and thicker, even their smell was sharper, fresher somehow; nevertheless as his dark paws padded over the blanket of fallen needles he was assaulted by memories of his mother, memories of carefree days where he spent innumerable hours exploring and learning all he could about the world. He recalled following in his mother’s paw prints as she revealed dozens of unfamiliar creatures to his wide, curious eyes. Under her tutelage he’d gathered so much knowledge, discovered so many tricks that aided him throughout his endless trek into the unknown, and gained an insatiable inquisitiveness that hadn’t even been dimmed by his mother’s inevitable abandonment.


The memories slipped back into the shadows of his mind as he slipped from the shadows of the trees and onto the forest trails that the prey animals used to travel through the forest. He wasn’t hunting now, though it wouldn’t have been hard for him to find the newest set of tracks and follow them to their maker. He liked the trails for other reasons; the ground was hard packed by numerous hoofs and paws, easier to run on. And clearer, so he could feel the wind blowing through his fur auburn fur as his body tore through the forest.


He sped up as he continued his trek deeper into the forest, not quite sprinting as he leapt over roots along the winding way.


He breathed in the forest air as he loped forward, enjoying the fresh piney taste that it left on his tongue. His nose caught other scents as well, a cougar had passed by recently following a pair of young deer, a raccoon had dragged some sweet smelling fruit towards its hiding place, but he ignored them in favor of plunging onward through the trees. Zephyr started up a hill, dodging around the younger trees that decorated the slope. He panted, his tongue lolling out as his paws pounded out a familiar pattern against the packed earth. He froze as he crested the hill, his mismatched eyes catching sight of a form that dove from the heavens above.


For a moment he thought it was one of the giant griffens that soared throughout the stories his mother had told him and he fearfully leapt towards where the bushes offered a semblance of safety. From there he watched, his eyes widened as he recognized the form for what it truly was, and he winced in sympathy as he heard the wolf’s body crashed through numerous branches on its way to the needle covered ground below.


Caution dictated that he keep his distance until he knew more so instead of rushing forward to offer aid Zephyr stood silently watching as the young wolf despondently lay upon the earth where he had fallen. His amber fur melded with the trees and bushes around him, as if he were just another stump or log upon the forest floor.


“Who am I to be called Sparrow?” Zephyr’s ears flickered at the voice and he logged the name in his memory for later. He continued waiting, debating whether or not to approach the young wolf. As he watched from his hiding place the wolf, Sparrow, leaped to his feet apparently not terribly harmed by his fall. “I just need some wings!” then he traipsed into the dense forest, tail waving high with enthusiasm.


Curiosity piqued Zephyr trailed behind, his paws moved silently upon the forest floor as he ducked through the shadows. He remembered when he had been so passionate about life, though he had never attempted to throw himself from a cliff in order to fly. He chuckled quietly at the absurdity of it, though he could hardly fault the young wolf for the desire to soar through the air.


As he followed he wondered why Sparrow hadn’t wanted the feathers from the crows that lived in the cliffs that they were quickly leaving behind. Their feathers, while not as strong as the feathers of the predatory birds, would be better than the song birds that nested in the lower areas of the forest. He shook the question off, perhaps Sparrow didn’t know about the crows; after all he’d probably been more worried about the ground he’d been falling towards.


Then to Zephyr’s embarrassment he stumbled, a branch snapping beneath his paw as he stepped forward. He froze, hunkering down to the ground as the sound echoed through the trees.