“Why can’t I help the little rabbit?” I had asked my father when I was a youngling. I watched helplessly as a little brown rabbit struggled to free itself from a hunting trap. Its leg was bleeding, broken from the immense pressure of the metal trap ensnaring its limb.

“The rabbit will be someone’s meal,” my father had said. “We do not interfere.”

“But, please, he looks so helpless,” I pleaded. “He is in pain!”

“Quiet, Sable. That is foolish talk.” I remember tears welling in my eyes and the intensity of my father’s scowl as he pulled me away from the scene that we had stumbled upon during one of our training sessions in the forest.

“You need to learn to accept the natural ways of this life,” he stated while we flew away from the forest ground. “Don’t dwell on such thoughts. It is okay to have compassion, but you must not let your emotions guide your actions. You need to rely on your instincts and your training for guidance. You must accept that this world is full of death, one animal feeding the next, and in that suffering, life is sustained. Too much compassion can disrupt patterns of life. If you saved that rabbit, you may starve the hunter. What if that same hunter prevented you from gathering your own food? Say what, then?”

“I think I understand,” I replied while wiping my tears away. My father grumbled about no longer training in the area where forest dwellers hunted, but then looked back at me with his scowling expression while we glided over the treetops.

“Don’t allow imprudent behavior to dictate your actions. Help is only a mere disturbance in the patterns of life.”

I distinctly remember the pain in my heart as I thought about the struggling rabbit. I remember the sensation of salty tears dripping down my cheeks and some resting on my lips. I hadn’t often cried as a youngling, so why was I crying over a little rabbit of the forest?

I was a Teragane. I hunted animals, ate their flesh, and slept on pelts of larger beasts. It was the way of life, as my father and mother had taught. We were part of a life cycle that functioned according to survival. Bigger predators hunted smaller ones. Some lived in packs, like wolves, and others were territorial like bears. The forest dwellers hunted with sharp traps and weapons; I and those alike hunted with my hands. Food was necessary for me, and I was taught to capture fish and smaller animals to sustain myself.

So, then, why did I care so much?

As I pondered my desire to help Lillie, my memories of my father’s teachings troubled my mind. I knew in my heart that I was not purposely disrupting life, and my desire to help Lillie came from my compassion for her as her friend. Yet the feeling of contriteness lingered in my mind. I had already created a friendship outside of my own colony, against the early teachings of the Sage and my caregivers. I had accepted my defiant behavior as a natural part of my life, although I preferred to think less about its being a purposeful act of rebellion. Yet, at that moment, as I thought about my desire to help Lillie, my thoughts swirled about my actions and how they affected my life. If I helped teach her to climb the cedar trees, that would not necessarily disrupt the balance of life, right? In addition, it could bring back her happiness and enhance her daily life.

It wasn’t affecting my survival. Or was it?

“If I can teach Lillie how to climb the cedar trees,” I said out loud, “then maybe she will be happy again!”

Wait—Me? A Teragane teaching a forest-dweller how to climb trees? Not any tree—a giant tree! Am I a fool for thinking such things?

I did not know how I could help Lillie learn to climb trees. In fact, would climbing a tree really help her? It seemed silly after a few days of contemplation. The trees were nearly impossible to climb due to their massive girth and high branches. Yes—I had nothing to offer Lillie. I was a Teragane! I fly above the trees, up to the highest peaks, and down to the lowest of valleys within a single day! I am a solitary being who depends on only myself. I climbed trees as a youngling, but only as I was first developing my wing strength and agility. Now, I fly above the trees and avoid entering forests where there is little space to glide. Perhaps it was an absurd concept that I should teach Lillie to climb the giant cedar trees. How, in logical aspects, would it even help Lillie other than give her the happiness she seems to seek out from up in the forest canopy?

Wait—what if I could fly Lillie up into the trees?

I was not foolish! I was compassionate and caring. I cherished my time with Lillie and wanted to help secure her lifelong happiness that was dwindling due to her miserable life in the forest. I wanted to drive out the sadness and bring back Lillie’s exuberance. It would help because she wanted to view the world from the height of the giant cedar trees. Perhaps her village on the ground kept her miserable, and the chance of being up in the trees would give her an escape from her reality. Yes—I could help her establish those desires! I wanted to be her hero. I wanted her to never be angry with me. I wanted all these things more than anything.

You must not let your emotions guide your actions, I remembered my father saying.

And why not? What good are emotions if not to allow me to feel and act upon them? Wasn’t that what made me different than the beasts of the forest and other creatures of the sky?

I shook my head with disdain. I knew that my compassion for Lillie was not imprudent. In fact, I thought perhaps it was more than just childish affection. Perhaps it was growing into love.

I think—I think I love Lillie.

Love? What is love? A stronger emotion, a bond with another? Could I even understand such deep emotions without guidance?

At that moment, I nearly jumped out of my mountain home to return to the meadow, my heart pounding and my head spinning, but I stopped in my impulsive tracks. First, I remembered I had to wait until the full moon before meeting with her again. Then, I remembered the incident when Lillie fell from the tree and crashed on top of me. I could not hold her above the ground, let alone fly her around.

You dullard! You are weak! You can’t even hold Lillie up. You let her fall to the ground. You could not even breathe after she fell on top of you!

I began pacing my room, pounding my hands on my head, trying to get my mind to think clearly. It was the most thoughts I had all at once in my entire life. My head began to hurt trying to come up with solutions. My mind was filled with contriteness, swirling with personal insults and feelings of inadequacy. I could never talk to anyone else about my thoughts. I thought for a moment about Cami and my other friends. We all lived our private lives, independent of each other and separated by any need for companionship, at least while we were young. It also reminded me of the inevitable response they would have.

“It is absurd to have compassion for others outside of our way of life,” they would say. “How could you ever get yourself into a contradicting practice of a bond with a forest dweller? Have you no shame?”

Immediately, I dismissed the idea of seeking their counsel. I looked around my home. There was a shallow fireplace with a simple iron cauldron inside, and within the cauldron rested an eternal fire. It was brought by the Sage in order to keep ourselves warm within the cold mountain peaks. The glowing blue light heated my cave-like home, keeping me comfortable even in the freezing winters. The fireplace was modest, a carved indent in the stone walls that made up my solitary home. The eternal fire did not cast smoke, but only warmth and light. I didn’t even know where this eternal fire came from. I never questioned it nor even cared. It was just part of my life—my solitary life.

I had a storage area built into the ground, enclosed by a wooden trapdoor, where I could preserve food and water during the winter months. I mainly hunted fish and other small creatures. I did little to process my food, only enough for conservation. The little cache was mainly used for long-term supplies during the winters. During the warmer months, I did not even eat in my own home, sometimes while flying but mainly right after my hunt. I thought about my home and how it was set up. Everything was given to me either by a Sage or from my parents when they first brought me into the world.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Even my clothes were given to me. Where did they come from?

Lillie wore different clothes and accessories; she even sometimes wore wooden beads in her hair. I had nothing like this. I wore simple black woolen trousers and a tunic with detachable sleeves. During winter, I had a lightweight woolen cloak, designed specifically with detached layers that can be draped over my head, splitting in the back to adjust for my wings. The poncho-like cloak sat mid-thigh, and I could fasten it around my waist with a leather belt, securing the loose material for flight efficiency yet still sufficiently keeping me warm and dry during the cold and wet months.

My black hair did not grow past my shoulders, was jagged and always unkept. I saw no point in combing or taking care of my hair since the wind and weather would ruffle any effort. In addition, I did not have a reflection glass, nor did I care to look at myself, or even take care of myself outside of my basic survival needs. My life was in the sky, near the lakes and rivers, in the mountains, or in the meadow with Lillie. For the first time, I realized I didn’t even know what Lillie thought of me.

Did she think my brown skin was beautiful like I thought her gray stormy complexion was?

Did she marvel at my black hair like I did with her brown, yet whitening hair?

Did she ever notice the color of my eyes? Oh, I remember her eyes when I first met her; they were sparkling green, like the lakes shimmering in the summer.

Wait, what is the color of my eyes?

My head was spinning from thinking about my life and all the questions I asked. I never had so many thoughts all at once before. All the thinking and observation of my life and Lillie’s sudden sadness drove me frantically out of my home, and I descended below the summit. I flew to a forest where I knew bears lived. I liked watching them catch fish in the river. When I arrived, there were no bears, and I leaned over the edge of the bank, looking at my reflection on the surface of the water. I saw my dark, large figure looming across the rushing river. I bent closer to examine myself, hoping to catch the color of my eyes. My black wings and dark clothes loomed around my face. The river rushed quickly, making it impossible to see a clear reflection.

Brown, maybe? But not quite—

The noise of approaching creatures alerted me, and I retreated away from the river and up into a nearby tree. I settled upon a sturdy branch and waited. The large group of bears arrived to hunt their meal from the river. Summer was a casual eating time for bears, not too rushed like in autumn, which is before winter hibernation. Spring was a vicious bloodbath of desperation for food after a long winter sleep. No—the beginning of summer was perfect for relaxing and eating. I watched the group of large brown bears playfully splash around in the water, scooping up fish and devouring their meal immediately. My father had taught me to learn from the bears. They knew where the fish were plentiful.

“Never feed before the bears, only after,” my father had told me. “Otherwise, they will hunt you next for taking their food supply.” The bears were strong. I wanted to be strong, too. They were wrestling with each other playfully.

I could wrestle—again.

No—I had no one to wrestle with. As a youngling, I often wrestled with the other colony members, similar to the bears. But, by my ninth-year, I was taught to disregard such animal-instincts, due to it being dangerous. I remembered once attacking Cami, who hit his head on sharp rocks in the river, spilling blood all over. After such an incident, my mother thoroughly taught me to withhold myself from ever attacking unnecessarily. Yet, there was another young member from my colony who I had often wrestled with, building our strength together. But, again, we were taught to no longer participate in such primitive behavior due to its unnecessarily hazardous outcomes. Yet, as I watched the bears wrestle in the river, my desire to become strong like them welled in my heart, and I longed to be with others again.

I chuckled at the idea of wrestling with an animal similar to my size. Maybe a black bear. When standing upright, a black bear was the same height as me, but I did not know of their residence in this province. Since the brown bears congregated in this area, the black bears I saw before were long gone. The brown bears were much bigger and deadlier. My colony on the mountain would laugh at the idea. Other Teraganes would shame me for participating in reckless behavior, deeming it unnecessary and childish—something expected for me to have already outgrown.

Suddenly, one bear grabbed its brother, picked it up, and slammed it down onto its back, splashing water everywhere. It snarled its deadly teeth, and its massive arms shook with a thundering effect. I admired the raw strength of the bear, feeling amazed at how easily it picked up the other.

That’s it! I need to lift heavy things to get stronger!

The thought of strength training seemed outrageous at first, but it was the only solution that made sense in my mind. It was the only idea that satisfied my swirling thoughts. I once wrestled with the other younglings, but that was a vigorous battle. Lifting heavy things would not be dangerous to my wellbeing. If I were stronger, then I could carry Lillie, and she would not be sad anymore. If I could fly while holding Lillie, I could take her up into the trees. Actually, why stop there? She wanted to be up in the trees to have a better view.

If it’s a better view she longs for, then I can just fly her anywhere she wants!

This inspiring curiosity motivated me, and I flew away from my perched position within the tree branches. I began my strength training as a clueless beginner. I looked around for heavy rocks and simply began lifting in repetition or throwing the rock over my shoulders. This hurt my back after a while and made me feel ridiculous as if I were a child looking for salamanders under rocks. So, I began to think of better methods. I still had some days before the next full moon, so I began pondering different ideas on how to build my strength, basing my concept of time on the phases of the moon. Over the days, I tried different methods, often finding them embarrassingly childish.

I decided to return to the river and learn more from the bears. I watched the beasts closely, this time at their wrestling matches, exhibiting their muscularity, stamina, and power. I took notice of their food consumption. According to my early teachings, I only ate enough to keep hunger at bay—enough to meet my basic survival needs.

Maybe I need to eat bigger quantities like the bears? Perhaps this will give me strength, more muscles, and more power.

Instead of one fish, I began eating two. It was hard at first. I was not accustomed to eating so much in one sitting. I ate small amounts of food with Lillie, but at my leisure while relaxing. This time, I ate to fuel my stamina and enhance my power. The bears also ate other foods, like berries, honey, and even mushrooms. I followed them, watched, and learned from the great beasts of the forest. I kept all this to myself, and I dared not to tell the others in the colony, and I watched over my shoulder carefully to not be seen by any Sage or member flying over the vicinity. Over the years of solitary living, we had claimed territories, enclaves often called, but, still, the lingering anxiety of a Sage discovering me kept me vigilant within my enclave. I knew there was a possibility of them scolding me or deterring me away from my goals—perhaps even claiming that I had gone crazy.

Perhaps I was crazy. I was doing all this work for someone else. I was planning and adjusting my life according to someone’s survival and their happiness. That was not the way of the Teragane people. Our culture was independent; we were lone survivalists. We were magnificent beings, but secretive and mysterious, and we always kept our private lives simple. I did not want to do away completely with my culture, but I did know that my love for Lillie motivated me to become something more than what I was taught. Her happiness, her companionship, and our time together meant everything to me. I wanted to preserve that more than anything. I wanted Lillie, within the complexities of her life, to have some sort of security—with me.

Was it all absurd? No—I was in love, or at least love was blossoming within my heart. And I wanted it to continue to grow! I wanted to accomplish all these things for Lillie and even for myself. Motivated by my love for Lillie and inspiration to grow my strength, I observed other animals in the forest. Some were clever, like the foxes. The boars of the valley were fierce and relied heavily on their colony. Squirrels were creative when it came to finding food and how they made their way around in the trees. I thought of Lillie and amused myself with the imagination of her learning to maneuver high in the trees on the branches like a squirrel. I always relied on my wings to carry me where I needed to go. As I observed a group of squirrels and their creative process of moving freely around, a new problem developed in my mind.

How can I train the strength of my wings?

I had the endurance to take long flights like the large eagles crossing over the valleys with simple strides. I could glide with ease, dive when necessary, and even balance in mid-air. I already had the strength and stamina to lift myself from the ground. With each downward stroke, my wings would displace the air, allowing me to ascend with great power and precision. I learned these techniques in my early years. My flight abilities were instinctual, well established after so many years. As each new year passed, my body grew, and so did my wings. My wings were strong, but only enough to carry my weight.

I began experimenting with picking up heavy rocks again. This time, I took to the sky and flew in small sprints while carrying the extra weight. My wings felt shaky and weakened by the extra burden, but I continued to push myself in small increments. I spent my days eating large quantities of food and carrying weighty objects while flying. The muscles in my legs felt achy when lifting from the ground, and my arms were sore when I pulled myself up from tree branches in a repetitive manner. Whatever I saw in my environment, I thought of ways to utilize it for strength training.

What started as an idea grew into creating a new daily habit in my simple life. Even though my body was sore from the daily training, I could feel myself growing stronger day after day. I felt hopeful; I felt progressive. It was a slow advancement, but it was noticeable, and that was all I needed to accept. I had plenty of time to achieve my goals. Even though progress was slow, I grew excited to try new methods and experiment with different ways to achieve my ideas. Filling my days with exerted energy allowed me to pass the time with great motivation and build hope for a future that actually felt exciting—even though I dared not share my endeavors with anyone else. I felt confident in my life choices, but, still, I anxiously would glance over my shoulder or peer up at the sky and solidify that no prying eyes were watching me—just in case.