The Wing

The clouds were gathering. As Seamus the seagull looked up, he could see the last bit of blue fade as the dark puffs gathered and collided. He took a good long look because he knew he wouldn’t be seeing clear sky ever again. He was going to die today. 

The Great Blasket Island just peeked through the heavy mist descending upon the Dingle Peninsula. The late morning smell of recent dew was replaced by the unmistakable smell of rain. The beauty of the Whitefeather territory seemed as if it was illuminated by the fading light, rather than dimmed. But Seamus wasn’t happy. The darkness of knowing that you’re going to die is a crushing weight, especially if there’s nothing you can do about it.

Seamus was a runt. He had a crippled wing and was exceptionally small. And, like all runts, he was to be executed. Seagulls were supposed to be able to fly by the time they were eight weeks old, nine if they were really struggling. After nine, there’s talk of execution. 

Seamus’ mom was the greatest flyer in the entire Whitefeather clan. The clan leader, High Bird Wyvern, gave them an extra year because he knew that Seamus’ mom would figure something out. He was wrong. Seamus felt immensely guilty because he knew it was his fault, and even after trying so hard, her son was still going to die. 

Seamus now walked along the edge of the cliff, gathering sticks and long bits of grass. He was almost home, but he wasn’t sure if he would be able to carry the twigs and grass down the cliff to his cave without being able to fly. He put them all in his beak and carefully inched down the little path to the nest as a light drizzle descended upon the cliffs.

His mom was waiting for him when he arrived. Her eyes were red and facial feathers wet as if she had just been crying. She was a beautiful bird. Her down feathers were laced with different colors, and she radiated power. Her wings were large, strong, and aerodynamic, anyone could guess that she was an amazing flyer.

“Seamus—” she started to say, but couldn’t get out the words. She ran and folded him into her wings, crying because he was home and this was happening and…

And…

Her son was going to die. 

Seamus pulled out of her embrace. “I’m going to my nest, mom,” he told her. “One last project, you know?” 

She sighed. “Okay.” As Seamus moved further into the cave, to his personal nest, his mother peeked out of the cliff. “You don’t have much time though,” she said. “I think it’s almost midday.”

“Love you, mom.” That got her choked up again. He didn’t want to look at her anymore, for he knew neither of them would be able to bear it for much longer. 

When he got to his nest, he immediately began to work.

~ ~ ~ 

“We are here for your boy!” said a loud voice. 

“Oh, he’s… just in the other room…” replied a shaky voice.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Two burly cormorants bursted into Seamus’ room just as he was finishing up his project. He quickly concealed it under his wing before either of them took notice. 

“You are coming with us to High Bird Wyvern,” said the more muscular of the two. Seamus looked at them, making a show of innocent fear. They grabbed his good wing and hauled him up and out of the cave. His mom came warily behind, holding herself together. They walked up the path toward Wyvern’s roost. 

Seamus was not expecting the sheer amount of birds there. Most executions were quiet, only having loved ones and friends show up. Seamus didn’t have many friends since he spent most of his time practicing flight and doing small services for the community. That must be why, he thought. They are here because of the gratitude for the small chores I did every day. There were even some residents of neighboring clans, like the Lightfoot and Fisherking clans. Everyone was either sad or minorly annoyed, but the number of birds was completely unanticipated. 

Suddenly there was an enormous flap. The whole crowd looked up in surprise as High Bird Wyvern swooped down upon the crowd. He was not a handsome seagull. He was slightly tubby and had a scar on one of his legs. He had a perpetual scowl, but it was still hard to tell from his figure that he was an experienced soldier. 

“Seamus Winnigan, you are to be executed,” he said. His voice was deep and intimidating, another thing seemingly out of character. “Let’s make this quick so as to have as little tears as possible.” He shot a look at Seamus’ mom. 

Wyvern took Seamus to the edge of the cliff. “You may choose whether to jump or be pushed. Would you like to say anything to your clan and family before you make your choice?”

“Can I just see where I’m going to land?” said Seamus. He heard his mother gasp and choke a little at this.

“Very well,” said Wyvern. “But it could make this harder for you.” Seamus nodded and shuffled over to the edge of the cliff. There seemed to be an updraft blowing from between the jagged rocks at the bottom. As he was turned around he slipped the makeshift splint he had made on his wing. “I’m ready. I would like to jump.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Winnigan,” said Wyvern. Seamus didn’t look back. He leaped. He heard his mom scream. He spread his wings….

Seamus was gliding. The updraft caught on his splint. He had expected the updraft taking him upwards. He had expected Wyvern being impressed. He had expected so many things and all of them had just been destroyed. 

He came to rest on a rock, out of sight of the cliff edge he had jumped from. There was a crevice to his left. The rain came pouring down, and he took shelter in the cave. Maybe I can learn to fly. Start a new life down here. Eventually, I’ll see her again… it’ll just take time.