Darkwing Read Online Free Page B

angle.”
    “You know, big sister,” said Dusk, glancing down at her, “from this angle it would be particularly unfortunate if I had to pee.”
    “Don’t you dare!” Sylph said.
    “I won, by the way,” he told her. “First to the perch.”
    “You didn’t reach the perch,” she said. “We’ve actually floated right
past
the perch. The winner has to be
on
the perch. And since I’m well below you, seems I’ve got the lead.”
    “But I’ve got the speed,” Dusk countered.
    “Not that much speed.”
    He knew she was right. She’d probably beat him to the perch.
    “You go ahead, then,” he told her. “The thermal’s still strong. I’m not done flying.”
    He heard Sylph’s mocking laugh, and instantly regretted his choice of words.
    “After all,” she said, “you always did want to be a bird.” It was a joke in their family—and outside it, thanks to Sylph. Dad liked to tell the story of how Dusk tried to flap during his first gliding lesson. And when Sylph wanted to be particularly irritating, she’d start flailing her sails, saying, “Oh, I think I’m getting somewhere! I’m getting liftoff! Just a bit more!” Dusk had learned his lesson quickly, and had never told anyone about his secret visits to the Upper Spar. He was deeply ashamed of his abnormal impulses, but seemed powerless to prevent them.
    “Hey, do you think this’ll take us above the treetops?” Sylph asked.
    “I don’t know,” Dusk said. “Anyway, we’re almost at the Upper Spar.”
    “So?”
    “Dad said—”
    “You don’t always have to do what Dad says,” Sylph said impatiently. “Don’t be such a newborn.”
    “Well, we
are
actually newborns until we turn one.”
    “Don’t you want to see above the treetops?”
    “That’s bird territory,” he said.
    “Well, you’re practically a bird, aren’t you?” she replied with a chuckle. “The birds won’t like it,” he said.
    “But they fly through our territory all the time,” Sylph pointed out. “To get to the ground. We don’t mind.”
    “Right,” Dusk agreed, not wanting to seem meek. “It’s not like we’re landing on their roosts.”
    “We’re just passing through,” said Sylph.
    “Just to the canopy, to get a better view of the sky,” Dusk added. Sylph’s confidence made him feel bolder. But he heard his father in his head, telling him not to go beyond the spar. Dusk was not a rule-breaker by nature. Sylph was the rule-breaker. He tried to do everything he could to please his father. But he was truly curious to see a proper view of the sky—and the birds who inhabited it. They were level with the Upper Spar now, and Dusk swallowed nervously as they rose past it.
    The sequoia’s branches were shorter here as the tree narrowed towards its peak. The clearing opened wider. Birds traversed the sky, and the sun was just starting its slow descent to the west. Before long Dusk and Sylph would be almost as high as the sequoia.
    Dusk followed the birds’ speedy flight paths with eager eyes, marvelling at how their wing strokes carried them effortlessly higher. A large flock suddenly wheeled in unison and streaked out of sight. In their wake, a strange shadow appeared in the sky, just emerging from the sun’s glare, its outline blurred.
    “What is that?” Dusk asked Sylph, directing her gaze skyward.
    To him it looked like a tree uprooted, sailing on its side, boughs thrashing. Once free of the sun’s glare, the object became clearer, and with alarm Dusk realized it was coming towards them. He’d never seen anything so large in the air.
    A long crested head.
    Jagged wings that spanned forty feet.
    “It’s some kind of bird!” Sylph said, her voice constricted with fear.
    Dusk saw its massive wings arch sharply and push down in a half-hearted stroke. “But it has no feathers,” he muttered.
    The thermal, which had been giving them such a delightful ride, was now carrying them heedlessly closer to this thing. Dusk angled his sails and