Short Stories

Dawn Of Rebels

In her life, Dawn appreciated the smallest of things. The sun piercing the clouds on an early morning, a warm meal in the depths of winter, a cool wind rustling her large feathers. 

She also appreciated silence - but she rarely had silence when her brother was around. 

Donovan had the soul of a wolf, like many in their little village. He was boisterous, lively, and buzzed at the idea of an adventure. His grin was a promise of a mighty story to tell around the fire in the evening with a full belly. They were alike in looks alone; both bearing the same ashen brown eyes and sun-kissed locks. 

The main difference was Dawn always wore a hefty long coat. A coat made for her kind only, a protective layer, to shield her large wings from the dust and clutter on the ground. 

Dawn was like her mother - a winged one. There were old names for their kind but the pronunciation had long been forgotten. They were rare in their village, only a handful of them resided there, but every one was treasured. Mira was a gatherer for the people. Haylen and his wife Maline and son Sigil ran the lumbar yards and helped build homes. Sage, Mira's closest friend, helped gather the herbs for the healers and any weaver tools needed. 

They were always named after their wings. Sigil had wings like ink. Haylen had wings of the freshest stale straw. Maline had feathers of the deepest brown, a tourmaline, with an almost purple tone to the edges. Sage's wings were rare; a deep green that camouflaged her in the forest when she hunted the healing herbs. Her mother Mira had wings like the moon, the shiniest of silver. They were rumoured to reflect your face like a still lake - some said that you could see your future in her feathers.

When Dawn was born, sheltered in the highest tree like any winged before her, Mira was surprised. Her first born, Donovan, was a wolf like his father. She knew she was having a girl, the weavers in their town used their opaque magic to prepare her for her birth, but they never told her that she bore wings. 

In the shade of the tree her wings were the lightest of brown, tawny, and fluffy with newborn feathers. Mira was going to name her Terra, and old name of the earth beneath them and one her grandmother had bared, something to ground her when she was up in the clouds. But as she'd moved in Mira's arms, the wind rustled the branches aside and the first light of the sun had caught her wings. 

They'd shone the brightest of gold. Like a mirror, like Mira's rumoured silver wings reflecting like a lake, her new daughter's wings glowed in the light of the sun. 

So she was given the name Dawn, the first of her family to hold wings that glittered under the sun like treasure. 

Dawn's father Marco was enamoured when Mira finally few out of her birthing tree, weeks after her birth. It was tradition amongst the winged that the mother and newborn remain in the nest from the week before until both have recovered from the trauma of birth. Mira's body was scarred and bruised, little Dawn was already wriggling away from her clutches like she couldn't stand being contained. A true winged, desperate to fly immediately. 

Her father and brother, who was five winters old at the time, remember waiting at the front of their home, sitting on an old tree that had fallen down and seeing Mira's silver flashing wings on the horizon. As dawn broke over their home, Dawn was united with the rest of her family for the first time. Both were surprised at the appearance of her wings, more so when she wriggled again and the light made them glow like the liveliest of embers. 

Donovan was a little disappointed that his sister didn't have a wolf soul like him but he loved her nonetheless. Their relationship was sweet and kind as they grew. Dawn would practise flying with her mother, wobbly on her new wings at first. It was normal for winged to be unbalanced in their first flight, more so for Dawn who lived at the base of a mountain, directly under a current that crested from the peaks above them.