I Am A Flyer

Stranger from the Sky

Jett wished he had a pet wolf. A giant pet wolf, with six-inch fangs and ten-inch claws.  Then he could send it at those irritating village boys and make them think twice about vandalizing his hut. He couldn't imagine them wanting to punch holes through the grass walls when they were missing a few fingers or toes.   He grinned, picturing the scene inside his head.

The smile didn't fade as he went about his tiny hut, gathering his bow and quiver and hunting knife.  He'd lost the early morning hours since he had to spend the time patching the holes in his hut, but it was still early enough that the deer would be just rising from the beds.

He stepped out of his hut, lifted his tanned face skywards and squinted at the brilliant sun.  It was fairly low on the horizon, casting an eerie golden glow to half the sky. His smile became wistful. Ma had always loved the sunrise, often waking an hour before daybreak to watch as the sky lightened.  When she had taken sick, he had to help her outside, propping her up against the large stump and wrapping her up in blankets so she wouldn't get cold. Then they sat together and watched the colors change the sky.  She had passed watching the sun, her gaunt face cast in a soft yellow light and a small smile on her cracked lips even though she had left him behind.

Jett shook the memory away. That was nine years ago and he didn't feel like dwelling on it. Besides, he was older now, able to fend for himself. He was sixteen – not quite a boy, and not quite a man.

 Jett eyed the forest line that lay in the near distance. Huge trees loomed upwards, hiding the sun's light from their depths and casting the forested land into darkness. To the superstitious villagers, it was a dangerous, evil place and none of them would dare venture inside. It was just fine with Jett, for the Putarc forest had become both a provider and a protector and he didn't feel like sharing it with the people who had cast him and his mother out of their midst.

He checked the knife belted to his waist, then adjusted the quiver slung on his back. Gripping his strung bow tightly, he drew in a sharp breath. Let's go.

He broke into a light run, his footsteps skimming the ground as he surged forward. The tall grasses seemed to bend themselves out of his way as he flew down the shallow hill and across a small meadow of wildflowers. Within ten minutes, he was enveloped in the darkness of the forest.

He ran through eerie silence, weaving between gigantic, gnarled trunks that stood like grim guardians. Feet light as a feather, legs smoothly stretching out in ground-eating strides, lungs heaving as they forced air in and out - Jett flowed through the Putarc like water through a river.

His passage disturbed a flock of roosting crows and they took off, cawing and flapping like the jaws of death itself were after them. Jett smiled briefly, silently apologizing to the birds for having disturbed their rest. He broke past several thin branches, snapping them off loudly as he rushed through, before he abruptly slowed to a walk.

This was the place he had been looking for – tall mountains of trees and a smooth, grassy forest floor cast in shadow. A few streaks of sunlight pierced through the thick green canopy, illuminating small patches of grass and shrubbery.  Keeping quiet, he stepped forward, ready and alert.

It didn't take long. Jett travelled about a hundred yards, picking his way carefully, trying to be as silent as he could. Moments later, he was startled by a rush of movement, as  a small group of deer burst out of the forest and exploded into a frenzied flight.

This was it! This was what he had been looking for! With Jett right behind them the deer fled, leaping and bounding their way through the forest. They were so close, an amazingly easy shot, yet Jett did not draw an arrow from his quiver and notch it. Lengthening his strides, he struggled to keep pace with the fleeing deer, trees and branches and plants flying past in a blur.