Turtles of a Feather

Chapter 12- Frightful Flight

'They're beautiful...'

Red-brown orbs scanned the dark sky, taking in the view of the stars splattered across the black canvas. The moon shone bright in the center of them all, as if it were a mother watching over all of her helpless children.

Donatello smiled to himself as he pinpointed the different constellations among them. The owl winged turtle stuck his tongue out from the corner of his mouth, rapidly sketching the constellations and star placements on his smooth stone slab with some soft rock.

"A line here, and one here, and now connect them here, and...done!" the purple-clad turtle exclaimed proudly, holding the slab up to the moonlight to inspect his notes and sketches.

'Perfect!'

"Donatello?"

The olive turtle looked over his shoulder and saw none other than Splinter sitting outside of the nest on one of the branches.

"You should really be asleep by now my son. You're still a growing child after all," the rat dad said with a smile, climbing into the nest to sit next to his boy, "What are you staying up so late doing my son?"

Donatello nervously shuffled his wings and slowly handed his father the slab of stone with all of the night's recordings and findings, "I was taking notes on the stars Sensei," he whispered quietly.

Splinter looked at the stone, brushing his fingertips against the scratched writing and drawings on the surface. They were extremely detailed and accurate, something that the rat master had never seen such a young child accomplish before, "I am quite impressed my son. Not only are your notes quite admirable, but so is your creativity and innovation. You found a way of fulfilling your need by being resourceful."

Donnie rubbed the back of his head, chuckling, "It's nothing father, really. It's just something I do."

"And that is exactly why I gave you this," the rat set the slab down and grasped the violet mask tails gently, feeling the fabric, "This royal color represents many of your great qualities Donatello, your phenomenal mind being one of them. Don't underestimate yourself my son."

"Yes Sensei," Donnie replied with a small simper, his gapped tooth showing between his parted lips.

"I suggest you get some rest my son. It's the middle of the night and I wouldn't want you to be tired for training tomorrow."

The owl winged turtle nodded, "I will Sensei, thank you."

"Very good, sleep well Donatello," Splinter kissed his son on his forehead and hugged him, climbing out of the nest and heading down the oak's trunk to his sleeping quarters.

"Good night father," the boy whispered, even though he was well aware that his Sensei couldn't hear him.

With a sigh he looked around the nest at the mess. Research tools made from forest debris were scattered around the floor of the nest, making it very difficult to move without stepping on anything. Reaching out his arms, the olive hands grabbed the items and placed them into a grass-woven basket. The cleaning process took almost an hour, including the organization of notes and the proper placement of tools.

The boy looked around the nest, pleased with his thorough clean-up. Finally with a yawn, and another glance at the sky, the turtle realized that it was already past the middle of the night. If training was indeed tomorrow morning, he knew the best option would be to get as much sleep as possible before dawn came around.