Page 36 - SAMPLE Fledgling

Her feet and hands are bare, like those of a baby. The soft hair on her head, like her skin, feels as ancient and fragile as the Earth.
She turns her inquisitive face to me, and for a while we sit and study each other. She seems as interested in me as I am in her.
She stretches her wings out and I run my fingers along them, carefully untangling any storm-damaged tips. They are as soft as velvet, and are gleaming now, like the inside of a shell. They look too small for her to fly. But then how did she reach my room? I think of the eagle owl in the owlery and his vast wingspan, and the owls that circle our rock at night. Her wings are different to theirs, but she is so light, perhaps she is simply lifted by the wind. I softly blow on her to dry her feathers. She flutters her wings, as if testing them. She does not try to fly, but I wonder if and when she will.
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