CHAPTER 39

THE FIRST FLIGHT

Brightbill had spent his entire life by the pond, and he was becoming very curious about what lay beyond his neighborhood. So one day his mother said to him, “Let us go for a walk, and I will show you more water than you can possibly imagine.”

Roz placed the gosling on her flat shoulder, and the two of them set off across the island. They marched out of the forest, crossed the Great Meadow, and climbed uphill until they were at the top of the island’s western ridge. Before them was a grassy slope that descended all the way to the dark, choppy waves that surrounded the island.

“That is a lot of water,” said the wide-eyed gosling. “I’m a good swimmer, but I’m not good enough to swim across that pond.”

“That is not a pond,” said the robot. “That is an ocean. I doubt any bird could swim across an ocean.”

Waves rolled in from the horizon.

Seagulls circled above the shore.

A steady breeze blew up the slope.

Brightbill’s yellow fluff had recently changed over to a coat of silky brown feathers, and he spread his feathery wings into the breeze. And then—

“Mama, look!” For the briefest of moments, the wind lifted Brightbill off the ground. But he quickly tipped backward and thumped into the soft grass. “I was flying!” he squeaked.

“That was not flying,” said Roz, looking back at her upside-down son.

“Well, I was almost flying. I’m gonna try again!”

“I have observed many birds in flight,” said Roz. “Sometimes they flap their wings quickly, and other times they fly without flapping at all. They spread their wings and soar on the wind.”

“So I was soaring?” said Brightbill.

“Almost. There, look at that soaring seagull. It seems like she is not doing anything, but if you look closer, you will notice that she is making small adjustments with her wings and tail. I think you should try adjusting your wings in the wind, like her.”

Brightbill hopped onto a rock and opened his wings wide. “The wind is pushing me backward!”

“Change the angle of your wings,” said his mother. “Let us see what happens when they slice through the air.”

Brightbill slowly angled his wings downward. The more he turned them, the less the wind pushed him backward. And just as his wings leveled off—

“Mama, look!” he squeaked as his feet left the ground. “I’m soaring! I’m soaring!” He hovered there for a second, rising a little higher than before, and then he sailed backward into the soft grass again.

The gosling kept hopping onto the rock and kept riding the wind and kept tumbling into the grass, until he started to find his wings. With each attempt he floated a little higher and a little longer, and finally Brightbill really did soar. He lifted high into the air and hung there, floating. He turned his wings down and felt himself drop. He wiggled his tail feathers and felt himself veering back and forth.

“I’m a natural!” he squeaked.

“You are doing very well,” said Roz. “But you need to keep practicing.”

And so they spent the afternoon practicing up on the ridge. Once Brightbill was comfortable soaring, he tried flapping his wings. He flapped high into the air. He flapped in straight lines. He flapped around and around in circles. A big smile appeared on the gosling’s face. Clearly, Brightbill was designed to fly.

“I’m flying, Mama! I’m really flying!”

“You are flying!” said the robot. “Very good!”

Brightbill was now a real flier. But all that flying had worn him out. He lowered himself toward the ground and tumbled into the grass one last time. His landings still needed some work.

Roz placed Brightbill on her shoulder and headed back to the Nest.

“I can’t believe I can fly now, Mama,” said Brightbill in his sleepy voice. “I just wish… I just wish you could fly with me.”

And then the gosling’s words were replaced by his quiet, steady breathing.