Darkwing Read Online Free Page A
Author: Kenneth Oppel
outrage.
For a moment she glared at him, shoulders hunched, sides heaving. Then, “Show me how to do it!” she demanded. “Maybe some other time,” Dusk said.
“I want to know how!” And she threw herself off the tree and sailed out into the clearing, already well below him. “Dusk, show me!”
For a moment he did nothing, just watched her fierce upturned face. A few chiropters glided past, hunting, and stared at him in bewilderment. “Please!” Sylph begged.
Dusk sighed. This was getting embarrassing. “Find the column of hot air,” he told her. “It should be right underneath me.”
He watched as she sought out the thermal and then lurched straight through it.
“Brace yourself with your sails!” he told her. “You’ve got to stay on top of it.”
It took her three tries before she succeeded. Listing from side to side, she held tight and came bobbing up after him. He worried she might steal his lift, but there seemed enough for both of them.
Sylph’s delighted laughter carried through the clearing. Her whole body rocked so wildly with mirth that Dusk worried she’d laugh herself right out of the thermal. Somehow she managed to hold on. “Oh! This is good, Dusk! Very good!”
“Hi, Jib! Hi, Aeolus!” Dusk called out.
Trudging up the redwood’s bark, the two newborns stopped and stared, Aeolus with bafflement, and Jib with undisguised envy.
“What are you doing?” Jib demanded.
“Just going back to the perch,” Sylph said smugly.
“Watch out, everyone!” Dusk shouted. “We’re coming up!”
They were rising through the prime hunting grounds now, and chiropters had to swerve around them to avoid a collision.
“Nuisances!” one called out.
Dusk was pretty sure it was Levantera, one of his sisters. She was only two years older, and when he was born, she’d still been sharing his parents’ nest. He’d been very fond of her, but two months ago she’d found a mate, and now had her own nest in another part of the tree. She was too grown up and important to speak to him and Sylph any more—unless she was reprimanding them for something or other.
Dusk saw a few other chiropters watching, amused, but most looked suspicious and even disapproving before they sniffed and turned away. Dusk couldn’t believe that more of them didn’twant to try catching a thermal on their own. Weren’t they at all curious? Didn’t they see how much easier and faster it would be to get back to their perches?
Dusk looked down at Sylph’s spread sails—luxuriant silver-streaked black fur, the three claws on each hand—and wondered how she and he could be so different, born within seconds from the same mother. He didn’t like the way his arm and finger bones always showed beneath his own taut, hairless sails.
From the sequoia’s mighty limbs grew thinner branches that drooped slightly over the clearing. It was mostly these that the chiropters used as their hunting perches, for they made excellent vantage points for sighting prey and launching. A good perch was jealously held, and once chiropters were old enough to find mates, they were expected to claim their own perch and use it for the rest of their lives. Dusk and Sylph were still allowed to use their parents’ perch. Dusk could see it coming into view now.
He didn’t feel quite so jaunty any more. He started looking around for his father. At first he’d desperately wanted Dad to see him floating and know how clever his son was. But now, after noticing all the stern looks from the colony, he wondered how his father would react. No one had ever told him
not
to ride thermals. No one had said anything about it at all.
He couldn’t spot his father or mother anywhere. Maybe it was for the best.
He checked on Sylph. She was still there below him, doing fine. He’d sort of hoped she’d slip off the thermal, so he alone would rise gloriously past the perch.
“You know, little brother,” Sylph commented, “you look particularly odd from this
For a moment she glared at him, shoulders hunched, sides heaving. Then, “Show me how to do it!” she demanded. “Maybe some other time,” Dusk said.
“I want to know how!” And she threw herself off the tree and sailed out into the clearing, already well below him. “Dusk, show me!”
For a moment he did nothing, just watched her fierce upturned face. A few chiropters glided past, hunting, and stared at him in bewilderment. “Please!” Sylph begged.
Dusk sighed. This was getting embarrassing. “Find the column of hot air,” he told her. “It should be right underneath me.”
He watched as she sought out the thermal and then lurched straight through it.
“Brace yourself with your sails!” he told her. “You’ve got to stay on top of it.”
It took her three tries before she succeeded. Listing from side to side, she held tight and came bobbing up after him. He worried she might steal his lift, but there seemed enough for both of them.
Sylph’s delighted laughter carried through the clearing. Her whole body rocked so wildly with mirth that Dusk worried she’d laugh herself right out of the thermal. Somehow she managed to hold on. “Oh! This is good, Dusk! Very good!”
“Hi, Jib! Hi, Aeolus!” Dusk called out.
Trudging up the redwood’s bark, the two newborns stopped and stared, Aeolus with bafflement, and Jib with undisguised envy.
“What are you doing?” Jib demanded.
“Just going back to the perch,” Sylph said smugly.
“Watch out, everyone!” Dusk shouted. “We’re coming up!”
They were rising through the prime hunting grounds now, and chiropters had to swerve around them to avoid a collision.
“Nuisances!” one called out.
Dusk was pretty sure it was Levantera, one of his sisters. She was only two years older, and when he was born, she’d still been sharing his parents’ nest. He’d been very fond of her, but two months ago she’d found a mate, and now had her own nest in another part of the tree. She was too grown up and important to speak to him and Sylph any more—unless she was reprimanding them for something or other.
Dusk saw a few other chiropters watching, amused, but most looked suspicious and even disapproving before they sniffed and turned away. Dusk couldn’t believe that more of them didn’twant to try catching a thermal on their own. Weren’t they at all curious? Didn’t they see how much easier and faster it would be to get back to their perches?
Dusk looked down at Sylph’s spread sails—luxuriant silver-streaked black fur, the three claws on each hand—and wondered how she and he could be so different, born within seconds from the same mother. He didn’t like the way his arm and finger bones always showed beneath his own taut, hairless sails.
From the sequoia’s mighty limbs grew thinner branches that drooped slightly over the clearing. It was mostly these that the chiropters used as their hunting perches, for they made excellent vantage points for sighting prey and launching. A good perch was jealously held, and once chiropters were old enough to find mates, they were expected to claim their own perch and use it for the rest of their lives. Dusk and Sylph were still allowed to use their parents’ perch. Dusk could see it coming into view now.
He didn’t feel quite so jaunty any more. He started looking around for his father. At first he’d desperately wanted Dad to see him floating and know how clever his son was. But now, after noticing all the stern looks from the colony, he wondered how his father would react. No one had ever told him
not
to ride thermals. No one had said anything about it at all.
He couldn’t spot his father or mother anywhere. Maybe it was for the best.
He checked on Sylph. She was still there below him, doing fine. He’d sort of hoped she’d slip off the thermal, so he alone would rise gloriously past the perch.
“You know, little brother,” Sylph commented, “you look particularly odd from this