Miles To Go Before I Sleep

Five Times

Five Times

...

"Gah!" Jack cried seconds before he slammed into the trunk of a rather large tree and tumbled to the snow-covered ground below.

It had taken him a while, but he'd eventually learned that the wind didn't obey him; wasn't his to control. The wind had semi-sentience and a mind of its own. He could only fly because it was willing to carry him. And in the few months after he'd emerged from the pond before he'd realised this he'd had a rather tough time flying without falling or hitting things. If he was going to harness the wind's power, he had to acknowledge that they had a partnership; not a dictatorship.

"Ow," he said, rubbing a sore spot on his head as he sat up, the snow dislodging from where it had settled in his clothes and hair.

But he must still be doing something wrong if he was still crashing half the time.

The wind gently rustled his hair in apology. In truth, his rather unspectacular flights weren't actually Jack's fault at all. The wind he rode had only rarely carried creatures larger than birds on its breath before, and while it greatly loved its winter child, it still needed a little more practice in knowing how to spread itself and how quickly it needed to move in what direction. Unfortunately, it had no way of conveying any of this to the boy, and so Jack continued to blame himself.

"Sorry," Jack apologised, getting to his feet. "Shall we try again?"

The wind rose in excitement at his suggestion, ready to give it another go and bring forth the beautiful smile that accompanied Jack's child-like joy.

They made it nearly five kilometres further than the last time before Jack shifted his body just far enough that the wind lost its control over balance and he plummeted, unable to catch himself on his sudden descent.

Jack crashed through no less than six thick branches before the trees dropped him to the earth below. The wind wrapped around him in concern, silently asking if he was alright.

Jack groaned as he sat upright, holding his right arm to his chest. "I'm okay," he managed. "But I think my arm is broken."

The wind moaned a mournful cry, a deeply sad and remorseful sound echoing through the forest in which they were.

"It's okay, I'm okay," the winter spirit tried to placate it. "Look, I'll just set it and make a cast and it'll be good as new in no time!"

Setting the bone turned out to be far harder and more painful than he'd thought. He'd had to use his feet to hold his wrist in place and pull back with his shoulder and good hand to get the bone back into its proper position. His cries of pain were louder than the wind's.

"S-see?" he smiled shakily. "'S all good. Just gotta make the cast now."

He had to wait until he could catch his breath, and the cast was really just a covering of thick ice that would stop the bone slipping again, but it was all he could do and it was all he needed.

...

...

Jack learned about the effect of heat on winter spirits the hard way. If someone had have just told him that it wasn't a good idea to stay in Burgess all year around, he wouldn't be in this mess to begin with. But no, so there he was lying on the bank of his pond melting into a puddle of water.