The little bird was sore and scared. He had been flying for an hour straight now by his mother’s orders, his wings hurt and tears wouldn’t stop coming out, blurring his way.
One moment he was learning to fly with his mother, and the next thing he saw were village men running towards them with nets and bows ready with arrows in their hands.
His mother told him she loved him while she pushed him off the grassy hill his family had learned to fly on generations before him.
His blood was running so fast that he opened his wings by mere instinct.
He felt a fresh and gentle push against his chest and when he opened his eyes the earth opened beneath him in green fields of grass and large woods on the mountains around,
but there was no time to appreciate the view because quick footed men were still following him.
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