Darkwing Read Free

its wings as it rose, quickly and gracefully. Four flaps. Dusk looked all around to make sure no one was watching. He crouched and sprang straight up,spreading his sails and beating them hard, one flap, two, three—And landed on the branch in a heap. He ground his teeth in frustration—and shame.
You are not a bird.
    His father had told him that during his very first gliding lesson, and a few times afterwards, until Dusk taught himself never to flap, no matter how strong the urge. But the urge had never left him altogether. Some stubborn part of him still believed that if he could only flap, he would lift.
    Chiropters only glided down, never up. But maybe they
could
go up, if they learned the secrets of the birds. He couldn’t be the
only
chiropter in history to think this. But no one else seemed at all interested in wings, or how they were used.
    Was he doing something wrong? Flapping was hard work, but maybe he needed to do it faster than the birds, at least to get him airborne. He closed his eyes, tried to remember exactly how the bird had launched itself, crouched and—
    “What’re you doing?”
    He jerked around to see his sister Sylph, climbing out along the Upper Spar with two other newborns, Aeolus and Jib. Jib’s great-aunt was Nova, one of the colony elders. Dusk wondered how much they’d seen.
    “Oh, hello,” Dusk said, casually folding his sails away. “I was just about to hunt.”
    “You don’t usually come so high.” Sylph looked at him strangely. She knew how much he hated climbing.
    “Gives me a longer glide,” Dusk said. “And it’s less crowded up here.”
    “He doesn’t kill as many chiropters that way,” Jib sneered. “I haven’t killed anyone in days,” Dusk said, stealing Jib’s laughter. “Anyway, the number of deaths has been exaggerated. Ifeveryone would just sail a little faster, there’d be plenty of room.”
    Dusk had earned a reputation as a breakneck and somewhat dangerous glider. Over the past six months he’d tried hard to learn how to slow down—with minimal success. His sails, his entire body, simply would not co-operate. There’d been several collisions with other chiropters, including, not so long ago, a much talked-about mid-air landing on Jib’s head.
    “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Sylph said, nuzzling Dusk in greeting. “Have you been up here long?”
    “What are you three doing on the Spar anyway?” Dusk asked, eager to change the subject. Jib and Aeolus, he noticed, glanced quickly at one another, as if reluctant to answer.
    “We’re having a contest!” Sylph said excitedly. “Here to the Lower Reach. Interested?”
    “Sounds fun,” said Dusk. “I like winning.”
    “It’s not a race,” said Aeolus, a bit sharply. “It’s a hunting contest. Whoever catches the most on the glide.”
    “Ah,” said Dusk.
    All the newborns knew he was fast, but also that his speed worked against him when hunting. Because he fell faster, he had less time to target and intercept prey.
    “Well, why not,” he said. He was just glad none of them had seen him flapping. He could imagine what they’d say.
    Always been a little odd, and now this.
    Thinks he can fly.
    Bird brain.
    “I’m not sure it’s a good idea,” Jib said, flicking a sail at Dusk. “If he crashes into someone, we all get in trouble.”
    “I’ll be on my best behaviour,” said Dusk. He hated Jib’s barbs, and only hoped he didn’t let it show.
    “You’re just worried he’ll beat you,” Sylph said to Jib.
    Jib snorted.
    “Dusk’s the only newborn to catch a Sphinx moth,” Sylph reminded him.
    Dusk looked fondly at his sister. She was amazingly loyal when they were around the other newborns. When it was just the two of them, she was not nearly so considerate—but then again, neither was he.
    “So are we ready to go?” Sylph asked impatiently. Sylph was loud. She had a big voice and tended to shout. Their mother said she’d been born shouting, and really hadn’t