Adaryn (She could fly)

8/13/2019 Adaryn (She could fly)

http://slidepdf.com/reader/full/adaryn-she-could-fly 1/3

She Could Fly

The wind yanked on the little girl’s wisps of hair as she stood on the edge of the cliff. In

her russet raincoat and black boots, she looked bird ready to take off, perhaps a hawk of some

type. Powerful, yet delicate. Surrounding her were birds- puffins, gulls, kittiwakes, hawks,

razorbills- all poised like her, heads lifted to the nipping air. The girl was looking over the edge of the precipice, examining it with the greatest care.

Slightly aloof, gentle, looking wise. Only her small stature and milk teeth gave way the fact she

had not yet lived eight years. She backed away from the cliff, the birds parting for her like the

Red Sea. Her head was now bowed, eyes closed. Steeling herself. Then, her head jerked up as if

yanked by a puppeteer using his least delicate marionette. She leaped forward a few steps, arms

aloft, a deer, a hawk. Breaking out into a run now, the child zoomed precariously near to the

edge of the cliff. And sprang off it with utter confidence. The birds around her rose as one, darkening the

already gray sky in their multitude. Cries flew from their beaks; the thump of their wings was

overpowering. Under them, the girls was falling gracefully, hair flying upwards and face turned

towards he ground. She said something, and her words were whipped away before anyone could

hear. But if you could catch her voice, her faint, thin voice you would have heard. “I am

Adaryn.”

Two days later, the police found a two inch deep footprint and a small russet raincoat

lying at the foot of the cliff. Written on the label in round, neat handwriting was the name;

Adaryn Danaan. In the pocket of the raincoat were two feathers, droplets of rain still clinging to

them. The police combed the area, since there was a lookout for a little girl, around seven, with



light brown hair and grey eyes. This was not too unusual, except that the caller who had

described her could not be traced, had not given any name. Had they looked farther, or longer,

their search would have been as futile as it was; Adaryn was not to be found. But if they had

thought of asking the small grey gull that was perched on the rockface, the gull would have told

them what they needed to know.

The hunt for Adaryn grew, people began to report sightings of a little girl flying with the

birds. Newspapers used her as cover stories, used the girl whose parents could not be located and

who no-one remembered meeting. But the interest in her was ephemeral, as the interest in most

cover stories are, and by the end of the year it had dwindled to the point o being forgotten..

Adaryn herself was continuously oblivious to the manhunt. Her only companions were

the birds, and they protected her from the search as a rabbit would protect her young from a fox.

They would bring her food, clothing, shelter her in whatever they had to offer. She lived with

them, and if the odd ornithologist happened to spot her, or any of her rare, endangered winged

friends, they would find that their camera film had disappeared, or their computer stolen. Once,

one had found his notes lying soaking wet on the grass, and had almost cried with frustration.

Adaryn watched these procedures with a little interest, but was primarily devoted to her friends.

She was eight now, yet she knew well what happened when rare birds were spotted; it was either

extinction or eternal capture.

Adaryn was unsurprised when a woman in a white gown and raven locks descended upon

the ledge where she was sitting as rain would on a sunny day. So unsurprised, in fact, that she

did not even spare the woman a wary glance, let alone tackle her by the legs and send her flying

off the cliff, as would happen with any other intruder. The woman opened her moth to speak in

soft, melodic terms. “Adaryn.” She said the word commandingly. Adaryn looked at her, not



intimidated. “It is time for you to return now. Return to the home of the Danaan.” But no, Adaryn decided, she would not go. “I am Adaryn.” She announced it as a fact, as

if that was a good enough reason to stay. She announced as if the name alone caused undying

adoration. “I will stay.”

“You will come.” the woman contradicted. “I won’t be able to come if I’m not here.” Adaryn replied, showing cold eyes and a cruel

smile. She spread her arms as she had a year ago, and the birds began to gather in their number

once more.

“Adaryn, do not jump. I protected you last time, but I cannot protect you again.”

“Protect me? Why?”Adaryn gave a scornful laugh. “I can fly.” She closed her eyes

gently, and for the second time in her short life, jumped to what seemed like her death. The

woman lunged forwards, dignity forgotten along with the cloak that lay at her feet. An

outstretched arm, grasping nothing.

When the birds had cleared, the woman leaned over the edge of the cliff, hoping to see

nothing. Her wish was not granted. A small lifeless form lay stretched out on the ground.

“But she was Adaryn,” the woman whispered, broken and wraith-like. “Adaryn. She

could fly.”

Documents

Adaryn (She could fly)