“One, two, three--and...kick out! Now bring it back! Good!”
Pirr reached out his arm and then swept it back to his chest, the choreographed fighting moves echoing through his mind. He spun in a swift circle to complete the exercise.
“Alright. Let’s practice our flying,” The teacher’s voice rang out.
Oh no. This was the worst part of it all. Perhaps it was because his wings were naturally smaller than the others’, but he could never get himself more than a few feet off the ground. He was in a worried daze up until his name was called.
“Pirr. It’s your turn. Do you want to try?.”
“No, Mrs. Glaede.” Pirr’s face went hot. The other students turned their gaze towards him with a soft sympathy in their eyes. They were wise enough, even as children, to understand and respect his struggle.
“That’s alright. Okay--well, keep practicing at home. You’ll get it eventually.” Mrs. Glaede’s bright eyes were soft with understanding. “You were just born with the short end of the stick. Some of the best people are.” She pulled back her lips into a playful smile, her pearly white teeth striking contrast with her dark, tree-textured skin.
“Alright everyone, you have done well today. I will see you all tomorrow. ” Pirr breathed a sigh of relief. The embarrassment was over. “And remember to practice your flying. We need good soldiers like you if we are to keep our kingdom safe.”
Pirr sulked. For any of the seven-year-olds, being called a soldier of Reverie was the highest honor imaginable. It was no different for Pirr, but he knew that compliment wasn’t meant for him. He’d have to try harder to prove himself.
Suddenly, Pirr’s older sister appeared in the doorway of the tree hollow where he’d been practicing. Anyone could see her relation to Pirr at even a quick glance. She was eighteen; built small and thinly, yet with solid shoulders; her skin was lightly freckled and olive-tan, and she had dark brown hair that fell in messy waves down her back. Her dark magenta skirt, which she wore daily, was wrapped around her waist.
She grinned at Pirr and outstretched her pinstriped gray wings, her little hands barely peeking out from the feathers. “Ready to go?” She grinned.
“Hi, Petri!” Pirr dashed up and took one of her hands, his shame washing away like seafoam. He let her walk him out the door and into the bustling street.
The road was hardly what you would have considered a real street--it was mostly just a well-beaten path of mud and rocks that snaked between rows and rows of massive windowed trees. Fantastic creatures of all kinds were walking or riding giant toads or sitting in self-driving carts powered entirely by magic. It was a familiar and comforting sight for Pirr, especially that final turn to his own home. His tree was squat and overall much smaller than others, but it never really mattered to him. In fact, he thought it was the perfect height. His tree was the only one he knew of that was small enough to jump from the lowest branch and not get hurt--it made for good practice for a shoddy flier such as himself.
“Do you think I will ever be able to become a soldier, anyway?” Pirr whined unusually loudly above the din of the busy street.
“Well--you’ve been doing great practicing,” Petri replied. “But I’ve found something in my life to be true. Sometimes, you don’t get better when you want to. Sometimes never at all.”
Pirr was almost grateful. At last, someone had the guts to acknowledge the bitter truth.
“--I’m not saying you won’t ever fly.” Petri retraced her train of thought. “I’m saying...that sometimes, life doesn’t lead you in the direction you think it’s going. And that’s okay. Sometimes, you find yourself outside of the box...so you’ve gotta work outside the box.”
“Are you saying I might not be a soldier?” Pirr’s eyes grew wide with fear. “But then what will everyone think of me? What will become of me!”
“You will find other ways to serve Reverie. You fight in every way that you can. Sometimes it doesn’t involve wings or claws or a spear. You know that.”
They turned the corner, and their little house came into view. “Petri?”
“Yes, Pirr?”
“Are you happy to be a soldier?”
“I...am grateful. And I am loyal. Those things are more important.”
“Oh.”
They were both quiet as they marched up the incline to their squat little tree and opened the door.