Flight

He soared high into the morning sky on wings of tan and brown. Far above the fields, he traced slow lazy arcs. Even the giant vanes that harvested the sky plankton looked small from his vantage. His climb was nearly effortless, as the air was always thicker in the early hours before the larger of the two moons rose and reflected so much of the sun's light.

Dipping low over the lake, he leveled out just a few feet above the water. A school of tiny inkfish chased and leaped at his shadow as it preceded him across the gleaming surface. He laughed deep in his chest at the sheer joy he felt in that moment.

Arching his back to enable more lift under his wings, and to capture the warmer air above the land, he ascended again into the orange sky. Up and up he rose, through a low-lying cloudstack, startling a triad of plump dozing sunfloats, their wispy tentacles sparking in alarm underneath their billowing bodies as they rapidly vented out of his away. He nodded a silent apology as he sped past, and they were as soon forgotten as last night's meal.

High above the pinkish clouds now, he could see the hills that circled the sleepy valley. Not wanting to be spotted by a chance traveler or wandering herder, and feeling a bit fatigued (and hungry), he pivoted on a wingtip (how adept at that move he had become!), spread his wings to their full length, and glided back home to his workshop.