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Authors: Michael James Ploof
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shaking his head.
The other dwarves were choked up with laughter, but a scowl from their king sobered them quickly.
Roakore picked four others—one of which was Helzendar—for the first test flight. The king put on his feathered cloak and mounted Silverwind nimbly. He pulled on the reins slightly, and she reared back and spread her long wings.
“As ye be knowin’, silver hawks can change the color o’ their feathers accordin’ to their environments. Yer cloaks will change as well. Now, when there ain’t no sign o’ danger, the silver hawk will remain its natural silver. But once ye get to knowin’ ‘em good enough, they’ll change at yer command.”
He pet Silverwind’s neck and told her to change color. She complied, blending into the surrounding stone effortlessly. Her feathers even shimmered and glinted like the shining specks in the stone.
“Now, the silver hawk can blend with the sky, clouds, trees, even water. And it’s important that ye ain’t got nothin’ showin’. Make sure yer cloaks be pulled tight and yer feathered helms be secure. All packs must be covered in feathers, and yer saddles as well—or there ain’t no point in bein’ camouflaged.”
He spurred Silverwind toward the large entrance to the perch and motioned the first group over. “Single file. Follow my lead. Pull the reins right to go right, left to go left, pull back to climb, and push to dive. Give ‘em a bit o’ a twist to do a barrel roll. But that comes later. For now, stay on me tail, and don’t do nothin’ stupid.”
The riders got in line, with Helzendar right behind his father, followed by Freckles and Pecker. Three quick steps and Silverwind was leaping out into the midday sun. Goldenwing wasn’t far behind, followed by a screaming Freckles. Roakore let them get the hang of it, gliding out over the mountainside on a slow and steady current. The dwarves whooped, whistled, and cried out triumphantly as their hawks followed Silverwind.
Roakore glanced back to make sure everyone was following, then he leaned forward. “Alright, Silverwind, they’ve had enough time to get used to it. Let’s take ‘em on a ride. Nothin’ too crazy, mind you. Just nice and eas—”
Silverwind gave a screeching cry and dove suddenly, taking the wind from Roakore’s lungs. Behind them, Goldenwing dove, but Helzendar was ready for it. He gripped the saddle horn firmly with his steel fist and laughed all the while. Freckles had not been so prepared. Without goggles, tears had pooled in his eyes and his vision was nothing but a blur. He cried out and lost hold when Pecker dove hard. If not for the saddle strap, Freckles would have easily been thrown off.
“Easy, ye blasted bird!” Roakore yelled against the howling wind, pulling the reins.
Silverwind gave a proud cry and leveled out a few hundred feet above the mountainside. She banked hard to the right, spiraling into a barrel roll. The other hawks followed her lead—to the terror of Freckles. He was still trying to find a handhold on the saddle and screaming bloody murder.
The group leveled out and sailed over a valley between two mountains. Roakore looked ahead and saw what Silverwind was flying for. When he spotted the waterfall, he gave the reins a quick jerk. “Don’t even think about it,” he warned his mount.
She ignored him and beat her large wings, which had turned as blue as the sky. Behind them Helzendar was still howling, thoroughly enjoying himself. He had been on many rides with his father and was quite used to it. The others, however, weren’t doing so well. Their faces were stark white, with a slight green tint. White-knuckled fists clutched saddle horns and reins, and many of the poor dwarves had begun to pray.
They flew higher and higher, one thousand feet and then two, until they were directly above the waterfall. Silverwind leveled out, but before Roakore could mutter another warning, she tucked in her wings, pointed her beak at the ground, and
The other dwarves were choked up with laughter, but a scowl from their king sobered them quickly.
Roakore picked four others—one of which was Helzendar—for the first test flight. The king put on his feathered cloak and mounted Silverwind nimbly. He pulled on the reins slightly, and she reared back and spread her long wings.
“As ye be knowin’, silver hawks can change the color o’ their feathers accordin’ to their environments. Yer cloaks will change as well. Now, when there ain’t no sign o’ danger, the silver hawk will remain its natural silver. But once ye get to knowin’ ‘em good enough, they’ll change at yer command.”
He pet Silverwind’s neck and told her to change color. She complied, blending into the surrounding stone effortlessly. Her feathers even shimmered and glinted like the shining specks in the stone.
“Now, the silver hawk can blend with the sky, clouds, trees, even water. And it’s important that ye ain’t got nothin’ showin’. Make sure yer cloaks be pulled tight and yer feathered helms be secure. All packs must be covered in feathers, and yer saddles as well—or there ain’t no point in bein’ camouflaged.”
He spurred Silverwind toward the large entrance to the perch and motioned the first group over. “Single file. Follow my lead. Pull the reins right to go right, left to go left, pull back to climb, and push to dive. Give ‘em a bit o’ a twist to do a barrel roll. But that comes later. For now, stay on me tail, and don’t do nothin’ stupid.”
The riders got in line, with Helzendar right behind his father, followed by Freckles and Pecker. Three quick steps and Silverwind was leaping out into the midday sun. Goldenwing wasn’t far behind, followed by a screaming Freckles. Roakore let them get the hang of it, gliding out over the mountainside on a slow and steady current. The dwarves whooped, whistled, and cried out triumphantly as their hawks followed Silverwind.
Roakore glanced back to make sure everyone was following, then he leaned forward. “Alright, Silverwind, they’ve had enough time to get used to it. Let’s take ‘em on a ride. Nothin’ too crazy, mind you. Just nice and eas—”
Silverwind gave a screeching cry and dove suddenly, taking the wind from Roakore’s lungs. Behind them, Goldenwing dove, but Helzendar was ready for it. He gripped the saddle horn firmly with his steel fist and laughed all the while. Freckles had not been so prepared. Without goggles, tears had pooled in his eyes and his vision was nothing but a blur. He cried out and lost hold when Pecker dove hard. If not for the saddle strap, Freckles would have easily been thrown off.
“Easy, ye blasted bird!” Roakore yelled against the howling wind, pulling the reins.
Silverwind gave a proud cry and leveled out a few hundred feet above the mountainside. She banked hard to the right, spiraling into a barrel roll. The other hawks followed her lead—to the terror of Freckles. He was still trying to find a handhold on the saddle and screaming bloody murder.
The group leveled out and sailed over a valley between two mountains. Roakore looked ahead and saw what Silverwind was flying for. When he spotted the waterfall, he gave the reins a quick jerk. “Don’t even think about it,” he warned his mount.
She ignored him and beat her large wings, which had turned as blue as the sky. Behind them Helzendar was still howling, thoroughly enjoying himself. He had been on many rides with his father and was quite used to it. The others, however, weren’t doing so well. Their faces were stark white, with a slight green tint. White-knuckled fists clutched saddle horns and reins, and many of the poor dwarves had begun to pray.
They flew higher and higher, one thousand feet and then two, until they were directly above the waterfall. Silverwind leveled out, but before Roakore could mutter another warning, she tucked in her wings, pointed her beak at the ground, and
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