5

MIGRATION

THE NEXT MORNING, STAR, GRASSWING, AND THE other walkers gathered under a clump of shady oak trees at dawn. Star was the last to arrive because he was in no hurry to get to the northern territory. He would turn one year old there, and his destiny would be fulfilled, for better or for worse.

Silvercloud trotted to his side followed by Morningleaf, Echofrost, and Bumblewind. “Be safe and listen to Grasswing,” Silvercloud said to him.

“I will.” Star threw his friends a quick glance. Morningleaf’s lip was quivering, and Echofrost and Bumblewind were pacing frantically, either from stress or nursing withdrawals, he wasn’t sure. “I’ll see you all there,” Star said, trying to cheer them.

He looked at Morningleaf. Her light-brown eyes reflected the sky above where she would soon be flying. “Before you know it, we’ll be together again,” he said. She shoved her muzzle into the crook of his neck and nickered softly. Star longed to join her and the fliers. He wanted to watch the land whiz by under his hooves, to feel the dampness of the clouds, and to see new places. And he didn’t want to leave his friends.

Star shook off his thoughts and stepped away from Morningleaf. “Fly safe,” he said to all of them, and then he trotted away before he lost control and cried in front of the entire herd.

Without ceremony, Grasswing began the journey north followed by about a hundred walkers. When pegasi migrated by air, they flew in organized V formations, like geese. The bigger steeds took turns bearing the brunt of the headwinds while the smaller ones drafted in their wakes. But when pegasi traveled on the ground, they lacked such organization. Star fell into the rear of the herd and noticed that the walkers traveled like sullen refugees—together but alone—as if the only thing they had in common was that they were walking in the same direction.

A cloud of dust quickly formed as they headed north and left Sun Herd behind. Star coughed and snorted, trying to clear his nose and throat. He’d seen land horses once, drinking at Feather Lake. They were graceful when they traveled, born to run, but he thought the pegasi tried too hard. They walked with heads high because they were used to seeing the ground from the heights, and they fiddled with their wings, trying to find a flying rhythm that matched a walking gait.

Since Star had never flown, he picked up on the secret to ground walking pretty fast. It was simple; one just had to relax. Grasswing knew the secret too. He sauntered forward, head low and bobbing, wings tucked, hooves lazy. In spite of the horrible dust, Star remained at the back of the herd. He was used to being alone.

For half a moon they walked without incident. Grasswing led them over open vistas and through towering redwood forests. They drank from sky-blue lakes and crossed meadows dotted with colorful flowers and white butterflies, and they slept each night under a clear and glittering sky. The beauty distracted Star from the painful sag of his wings. The few predators they encountered moved out of their way, content to mind their own business.

Star often found himself walking behind Mossberry, an old mare who entertained him with stories. She was ninety-two and the oldest pegasus in Sun Herd. Her back swayed, the tops of her haunches were hollow, and her ribs showed, but her dark eyes were warm and bright.

Star followed her now, letting her swishing tail hypnotize him as the herd traveled through a large strip of open land between two dense forests. As usual, they walked due north toward the cooler section of their territory. Green grass would be plentiful there even in the late summer and fall, when their southern lands were dry. The sun’s heat was mild on his black coat, and he was content.

Then suddenly, out of nowhere, he felt the ground vibrate under his hooves. He pricked his ears, listening and slowing his gait, as the strange vibrations grew stronger. Puzzled, Star craned his neck as high as he could and looked around. He saw nothing unusual. Mossberry nickered. “Stay close, Star.”

Grasswing pranced through the herd of walkers, his tail high and twisted. He scanned the horizon.

Star heard something that sounded like heavy rain. Out of the darkening sky, white flakes drifted with the breeze. Snow? Star stuck out his tongue and caught a flake. He’d never seen snow, but Silvercloud’s stories described it as frozen water. This was dry and tasted like dirt.

But the flakes didn’t explain the approaching noise. Star swiveled his ears and finally placed the sound: hoofbeats. Mossberry straggled to a halt on stiff legs. The walking herd flapped their useless wings, and their shrill whinnies erased the last of Star’s contentment. Something was very wrong.

The thundering of the hooves grew louder, and Star saw distant trees swaying in the wake of the noise. He trotted to Mossberry’s side like an anxious foal and stared at the forest from which the sound was coming. “What is it?”

“I don’t know,” she whinnied, and reared suddenly as a herd of land horses exploded out of the brush. “Move,” she screamed, knocking Star clear of their path.

Star bleated, neighing to Mossberry over the ringing hoofbeats. “What’s happening?”

The horses raced past them, jumping fallen logs and short bushes, stumbling, and careening—a blur of legs and terror.

The Sun Herd walkers clumped together in the open space between the two forests, watching the stampede. Star’s nerves tingled, and his breath came fast, like he was running too. If the land horses noticed them, Star couldn’t tell. They galloped thoughtlessly, gripped and propelled by their fright. He reared to get a better view over the backs of the adults. The horses were built to run. They leaped with grace, landed without missing a beat, unburdened by useless wings. They were plain, mostly brown, but long legged and refined. Being called a horse wasn’t the worst thing, he decided.

Then horribly and suddenly, Star smelled the source of their fear just as Grasswing’s alarm pealed through the valley. “Fire!”

The pegasi whirled and immediately chased after the horses. Their compact bodies were built to fly, not run, and most had never jumped. Star’s herd dodged fallen trees and thick bushes that the land horses jumped with ease, and it slowed their escape. The fire roared out of the brush, dropped to the low grass, and chased them with insatiable fury.

In the chaos, Star lost sight of Mossberry. His long legs carried him past larger pegasi as the herd thundered through the valley toward the woods. Deer bounded past Star, and their hooves flushed jackrabbits out of the grass ahead of him. Some of the hares were trampled as they zigzagged through the maze of hooves.

Star was almost to the forest when he heard a horrific shriek. He turned his head and saw a wing-shaped burst of flames behind him. “Mossberry!” he whinnied, digging in his hooves and turning back. Grasswing, who was behind him, did the same.

Popping sparks had landed on Mossberry’s dry feathers. She flapped her wings, but the air she created fed the flames. Her magenta feathers curled and turned black.

“Help me!” she screamed, rearing up, her eyes rounded and white rimmed.

“I’m coming!” Star cried, neighing for help and cantering toward her.

Grasswing blocked him. “No, Star!”

Mossberry’s flesh and feathers melted off her wings, and Star saw the outline of her thin bones. She dropped to the ground, engulfed in flames, her legs flailing upside down.

“I need to help her!” Star screeched, pushing hard against Grasswing.

The stallion shoved him toward the woods. “No! Run, Star!”

The fire finished with Mossberry and blazed toward them. The smell of smoke awakened something in Star he couldn’t control, and he turned and fled.

As the pegasi herd crashed into the forest, the trees split their paths. Star ran away from the smoke and fire, following the trampled tracks of the horses, his lungs burning as he coughed from the smoke. When the fire reached the forest it slowed, toppling trees and swallowing them whole. The stampeding horses, deer, and pegasi raced ahead of the flames, through the brush and trees, and exited the forest on the other side. The deer scattered, the horses veered south, and the pegasi turned north. Grasswing whistled a call to gather the walkers quickly. Star ran to his side with a few dozen others.

By evening the entire herd was reunited on a large meadow. They rested and caught their breath. They were dazed and thirsty as Grasswing counted them. Only Mossberry was missing. There was no need for Grasswing to explain her absence; news of her horrific death had spread quickly through the herd.

He gathered the walkers for a brief burial ceremony, though there was no body for them to cover with stones. “Who will speak for Mossberry?”

A mare, well into her sixties, lifted her head. “Mossberry, filly of Windheart, you told the best stories in Sun Herd.”

Several elders nickered, but their expressions were downcast.

“You’re in the golden meadow now. Fly straight and find your rest.” The mare closed her eyes.

“Will anyone else speak for Mossberry?” Grasswing asked.

Twistfire stepped forward. “The last pegasus she spoke to was Star.”

Star stiffened at the mention of his name, and the herd rustled.

Grasswing interrupted. “If no one else will speak for Mossberry, we need to find water and rest.”

Twistfire galloped forward and wrapped his muscled wing around Star’s neck. Star gasped and tried to pull away. “He’s bad luck.” Twistfire looked at each steed. “He was the last one to speak to Mossberry before she died.”

The walkers fluttered their wings, whispering.

“Let him go,” said Grasswing. The palomino thrust his chest and pranced, ready for battle. The walkers, mostly elders, crowded close to him, glaring at Twistfire.

Twistfire grumbled and released Star. “Mossberry’s blood is on your wings, black foal.”

“That’s enough.” Grasswing pulled Star away from him. “There’s a river nearby,” he said to the herd. Then, turning to Star, he whispered, “Keep close to me.”

Star followed just behind the old warrior. When they were some distance ahead of the rest, Grasswing spoke. “Don’t listen to Twistfire.”

Star avoided his gaze; his belly was a coil of nerves and grief.

“I mean it, son. Don’t let him tell you who you are.”

Star lifted his chin. “The legends say who I am, Grasswing. And pegasi aren’t safe around me. Twistfire’s right. I’m not lucky.”

Grasswing snorted. “Quite the opposite. It’s Mossberry who wasn’t lucky. Don’t let the herd blame you for their troubles, Star. That fire had nothing to do with you. I’ve lived seventy-two seasons, and there have been fires and bears, wars and raids, murders and kidnappings my whole life.” He sighed. “As far as I can tell, nothing’s changed since you came along. If you’re a curse, then I can just add you to the long list of curses that plague the pegasi. If you’re the healer—well then, maybe you’ll change the world. We have nothing to lose for gaining you, Star. Tell me something: Who tried to help Mossberry while the rest of them ran faster?” He swept his wing to indicate the entire herd of walkers.

Star shuffled his hooves. “I did, but I was afraid.”

Grasswing snorted. “We’re all afraid, but you didn’t run away. Seems to me you’re on the right track.” Grasswing patted Star on the back and looked ahead. “Ah, there it is,” he said, “the river.”

Star and the rest of the herd approached the river’s edge and dunked their muzzles into the cold water, soothing their parched throats. The sun was setting, and Grasswing signaled that they would rest until morning.

Star settled down for the night alone. Images of Mossberry’s burning body rattled him every time he closed his eyes. He missed his friends and longed to talk to Morningleaf, to tell her what had happened. He preened his smoky feathers and thought of the horses running from the fire. As much as his wings irritated him, he didn’t really want them removed. He wanted to fly, and the urge was expanding in him every day.

Flight lessons would start for his friends when they became yearlings. Star would give anything to go to flight school with them, but he knew his time would be cut short on his birthday.

Or he could accept Rockwing’s deal.

Star sighed. Maybe the Hundred Year Star would let him go. It was clear he wasn’t the stuff of legends; he couldn’t tuck his wings on his back, let alone rule the five herds of Anok. The legends, like his wings, were a cruel joke. They promised freedom but delivered only pain.

Star fell asleep and dreamed he lived in the clouds—high above forest fires and angry bears—where pegasi flew without fear.