{"sf1_id":1388814,"sf2_id":"GnDEwx1r","title":"Exploration Flight","author":"ArrowQuivershaft","words":3026,"posted_at":"2018-11-24T03:35:00.000Z","tags":["Hawk","Red Tailed Hawk","Redtail","Transformation","Winter","woods"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1388814-exploration-flight","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/GnDEwx1r","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/de/f2/def2e412-3dcc-448d-bf4e-9ce001600852","description":"A recently awakened wildtouched seeks to find out more about his condition. Christmas Exchange story from last year by kschnee, and my part was done as \"Workplace Harrassment\" for Greyflank.","content":"For Arrow, re: his character Richard Gallian. (See eg.\u0026nbsp;  \n[http://www.furaffinity.net/view/14510431/](http://www.furaffinity.net/view/14510431/) .) Any canon errors are mine.  \n  \n  \nExploration Flight  \n  \n  \nThe backpack weighed heavily on Richard's shoulders as he left home at\u0026nbsp;  \ndawn. His breath puffed visibly and he kept his hands firmly in his\u0026nbsp;  \ncoat. Not that anyone was likely to see him, but he didn't want them to\u0026nbsp;  \nwonder or worry or call his parents. He'd be fine.  \n  \nRichard hiked out of town, which wasn't far, into the snowy woods.\u0026nbsp;  \nAugusta, Maine on a Saturday morning in February wasn't a lively place.\u0026nbsp;  \nHe smiled as he made it away from civilization, since now he could\u0026nbsp;  \nchange in private.  \n  \nWell, no; he was still out where some curious hiker might go. Or worse,\u0026nbsp;  \nsome drunken hunter who might see a hawk and... Richard shuddered. Of\u0026nbsp;  \nall his nightmares about transforming, getting shot was high on the\u0026nbsp;  \nlist. Better to get farther out of town before trying it. The first few\u0026nbsp;  \ntimes he'd been a hawk he hadn't planned ahead, at all, and it had only\u0026nbsp;  \nbeen luck that kept him out of major trouble.  \n  \nOnce he'd gotten far enough not to be seen, his backpack felt lighter\u0026nbsp;  \nand he quit looking suspiciously around. This was a hilly, craggy area\u0026nbsp;  \nwhere only his own footsteps crunched through the snow. The question\u0026nbsp;  \nwas, where to fly? The cliff over there would be a good takeoff site. It\u0026nbsp;  \noverlooked a steep mass of rocks that ended in a boulder pile, and the\u0026nbsp;  \nfrozen river. He'd swoop down dramatically to the ice and skim over it.  \n  \nOr maybe he could hike farther and find a better place. Richard kept\u0026nbsp;  \nwalking, then made himself stop. He was putting it off; he'd been\u0026nbsp;  \nplanning to make this trip for a week and kept finding excuses. The fact\u0026nbsp;  \nwas, he didn't know if he could handle changing again. If he'd panic,\u0026nbsp;  \nget lost, forget how to fly, or forget how to turn back. He'd been in a\u0026nbsp;  \nholding pattern. He took off his leather gloves and flexed his fingers\u0026nbsp;  \nin the frigid air, remembering feathers. Except for being a shifter,\u0026nbsp;  \nthere was nothing special about Richard. His fists clenched. Was that\u0026nbsp;  \nreally true, that he was just a kid otherwise? Ugh.  \n  \nRichard looked down the cliff again. It wasn't all that far, and parts\u0026nbsp;  \nof the rocks were ice-free. He put his gloves back on, dropped his\u0026nbsp;  \nbackpack, and started easing his way from the clifftop onto the next\u0026nbsp;  \nlower rock. Easy enough, now that he wasn't lugging food and water and\u0026nbsp;  \nother stuff. From there he looked for another step, another ledge. This\u0026nbsp;  \npart was tricky, forcing him to sit on the stone and get his butt frozen\u0026nbsp;  \nfor a few seconds while he slid forward and down. He landed in a crouch\u0026nbsp;  \non some moss and frost. Now the cliff was a looming shadow above, and\u0026nbsp;  \nthe river a dull mirror below. He wasn't sure he could climb back up. Good.  \n  \nRichard struggled out of his heavy coat and shoes. The cold bit into\u0026nbsp;  \nhim, especially his feet. Last time, his clothes had sort of come with\u0026nbsp;  \nhim, but he wasn't sure how far that power extended from his skin or how\u0026nbsp;  \nmuch mass it could \"store\". For that matter he knew barely anything\u0026nbsp;  \nabout his power. What would it be like to turn himself over to\u0026nbsp;  \nscientists to get studied and figure out how he did it? Probably\u0026nbsp;  \nunpleasant. What he could do for now was to learn more on his own. One\u0026nbsp;  \nday maybe everyone could find out how this form-shifting worked, and no\u0026nbsp;  \none would need to be scared of it.  \n  \nHe shut his eyes and crouched on the boulder, trying to steady his\u0026nbsp;  \nbreathing. When he'd changed before, he'd been panicked. He hoped that\u0026nbsp;  \nwasn't a requirement. How \\_did\\_ he change, exactly? He pulled off his\u0026nbsp;  \ngloves again and willed his arm to shift. Nothing happened but the cold\u0026nbsp;  \nseeping in. \"Come on!\" he said. He tried an increasingly silly series of\u0026nbsp;  \ngestures, poses and magic words. There was no instruction manual.\u0026nbsp;  \nRichard shuddered not just from the cold but from looking down again. If\u0026nbsp;  \nhe was in enough stress and danger, maybe that would trigger it. Or get\u0026nbsp;  \nhim killed.  \n  \nSo, he tried climbing farther down. He stumbled and wobbled on a rock,\u0026nbsp;  \nso that he had to grab the cliff face to steady himself. It wasn't so\u0026nbsp;  \nfar to the ground now. He could probably jump down and not hurt himself\u0026nbsp;  \nmuch. Like, ten feet, just enough to be scary. He was just going by\u0026nbsp;  \ntheory, here, hoping that the cold and wind and fear would help. He\u0026nbsp;  \nsteeled himself and jumped, arms wide.  \n  \nIn midair, his arms caught the wind. They felt like they were spreading\u0026nbsp;  \nout, prickling all over, and his hands going numb. In that moment of\u0026nbsp;  \nfalling his entire body fizzed. His mouth and nose felt strange in\u0026nbsp;  \nparticular, and when he landed hard on his feet his toes clacked against\u0026nbsp;  \nthe ground. He rolled with the impact, sprawling forward to cushion the\u0026nbsp;  \nblow, and landed in a bruised heap. Almost, almost! Richard laughed\u0026nbsp;  \nbitterly. Nothing had changed, when he looked himself over, but he\u0026nbsp;  \nwasn't much hurt either. He hadn't just imagined the change, though; he\u0026nbsp;  \njust had quit it too soon.  \n  \nHe looked back up at the cliff and gulped. According to his physics\u0026nbsp;  \ntextbook, ten feet meant falling for around two-thirds of a second. He\u0026nbsp;  \nhadn't even given his body one second to shift before it knew he was\u0026nbsp;  \nsafe again. So, from the top of the cliff... No, he wasn't that stupid.\u0026nbsp;  \nHe'd give himself a full second. He went back to the boulders and began\u0026nbsp;  \nclimbing up along them. Every touch of his wet socks and bare fingers\u0026nbsp;  \nagainst snowy stone chilled him. Still, he forced himself along to the\u0026nbsp;  \nledge where his coat and shoes were waiting, and looked at them\u0026nbsp;  \nenviously. Jumping from here meant more than fifteen feet down, which\u0026nbsp;  \nwas also enough to really get hurt. \"Do I really want to do this?\" he\u0026nbsp;  \nasked out loud. In the absence of a wise old man who could teach him, he\u0026nbsp;  \nhad no better option.  \n  \nRichard backed up against the cliff, ran forward, and jumped as high as\u0026nbsp;  \nhe could to buy an extra fraction of a second. The frigid wind roared up\u0026nbsp;  \naround him. His arms ached, but he didn't dare look at them. The air\u0026nbsp;  \nstreamed along his face, seeming to stiffen and pull forward on it. His\u0026nbsp;  \nlegs flailed and dangled but they were getting shorter, and what felt\u0026nbsp;  \nlike minutes passed and he hadn't -- oof! Finally the ground slapped him\u0026nbsp;  \nand he jolted to a stop.  \n  \nWas that it? Had he failed again? Richard dared to look at one of his\u0026nbsp;  \narms and felt his head whip hard to the right like a turret, giving him\u0026nbsp;  \na look at a long mass of deep brown feathers. The world felt bigger, and\u0026nbsp;  \ngrowing larger. He was still changing! He concentrated on what was\u0026nbsp;  \nhappening to his arms in particular, where his fingers seemed to shrink\u0026nbsp;  \naway into bare wrists and row upon row of prickling feathers. The same\u0026nbsp;  \nthing was happening a little slower on his left. He gave his left arm a\u0026nbsp;  \ngentle flap and felt the whoosh of air beneath it, and the way his\u0026nbsp;  \nmuscles wanted to move in a circle, down and back and up again like an oar.  \n  \nHe took a tentative step and fell over. His bare feet were pale yellow\u0026nbsp;  \nnow and there were talons springing out from them. Where the hems of his\u0026nbsp;  \npants should've been he had pale feather tufts itchily pressing their\u0026nbsp;  \nway out from his legs. He pushed one arm, more of a wing now, against\u0026nbsp;  \nthe ground to help right himself. Now that he was back on his feet he\u0026nbsp;  \nwas still a little unsteady, and that gave him an excuse to stretch his\u0026nbsp;  \nwings out. Seeing his own wingspan gave him a sense of pride. The rows\u0026nbsp;  \nof feathers all along his wings had distinct rows. He'd looked up the\u0026nbsp;  \nanatomy of hawks furtively, as though somebody would guess about his\u0026nbsp;  \npower by seeing him reading. Seeing the real thing was much different\u0026nbsp;  \nthan a photo! He tilted his head down and saw soft white feathers on his\u0026nbsp;  \nchest, with flecks of brown. A dark, hooked beak ruffled and tickled\u0026nbsp;  \nthose chest feathers as he moved. He tried to touch his beak with one\u0026nbsp;  \nwing, but had trouble moving it the way he would have used his hand.\u0026nbsp;  \nWorse than mittens, really.  \n  \nWorse? Ha! Richard's laugh came out as a screech that he'd always\u0026nbsp;  \nthought was more of an eagle thing. He bounced up and down on his feet\u0026nbsp;  \nand wobbled his wings as the transformation finished. The rocks he'd\u0026nbsp;  \njust climbed looked huge now! He was so light his human self could\u0026nbsp;  \neasily carry him on one arm, now. He walked toward the icy river and\u0026nbsp;  \nfound a spot that wasn't frozen. The rippling mirror felt like it was\u0026nbsp;  \npulling heat out of his face when he leaned close. He had golden eyes\u0026nbsp;  \nand a deadly serious expression, despite feeling ready to literally jump\u0026nbsp;  \ninto the sky. Well, almost ready. When he stood up straight again (still\u0026nbsp;  \nfeeling like he was leaning forward), something brushed against the\u0026nbsp;  \nground. Of course; he had a tail now. He looked silly trying to\u0026nbsp;  \ncoordinate all his limbs and his tank-turret of a neck to let him get a\u0026nbsp;  \nlook at it. The tail feathers were a deep red-brown, more vivid than\u0026nbsp;  \nmost photos he'd seen, and he could twitch them. \"Shake your tail\u0026nbsp;  \nfeathers!\", he thought, remembering a silly song.  \n  \nHe turned back, waddling a bit as he tried to master walking. He'd flown\u0026nbsp;  \nbefore, with a lot of difficulty; surely he could do it again. Richard\u0026nbsp;  \ntook a deep breath. Even breathing was different, like he wasn't quite\u0026nbsp;  \nbreathing out so much as in followed by in.  \n  \nHe ran along the short patch of dirt he was on, and pumped his wings\u0026nbsp;  \ndown and backward. The motion lifted him just enough to clear the ice,\u0026nbsp;  \nbut he dropped again and skidded, stumbled across it. That was a start.\u0026nbsp;  \nThe ice looked solid enough for the two or three pounds he weighed. He\u0026nbsp;  \nran again and flapped, then flapped a few more times, until he was in\u0026nbsp;  \nthe air. Headed right for the cliff! Richard screeched and dipped one\u0026nbsp;  \nwing, which sent him spinning far off to his left. Out of control, he\u0026nbsp;  \nslapped the air and wobbled until he could level off again. There was\u0026nbsp;  \nclear sky ahead. He practiced keeping in the air, as level as he could,\u0026nbsp;  \nthough it still felt like he was always either falling or gliding\u0026nbsp;  \nrapidly forward. This was no time to get airsick! He tried to master the\u0026nbsp;  \nfaint queasiness by telling himself that it was a human thing. Not\u0026nbsp;  \nsomething that applied to him, not now.  \n  \nHe veered in circles, constantly tense as he tried to get used to\u0026nbsp;  \nsomething no human ever could. Then level flight again, parallel to the\u0026nbsp;  \ncliff. At first he flapped too fast; his natural pace seemed to be slow\u0026nbsp;  \nand steady. He kept low to the ground in case something went wrong. To\u0026nbsp;  \nget his stuff back, though, he had to make a... well, not a precision\u0026nbsp;  \nlanding, but to reach the right rock and not smack into it. He practiced\u0026nbsp;  \nby swooping down to the ice again until he was inches above it, then\u0026nbsp;  \nlowering his legs like an airplane's wheels and skidding down on them.\u0026nbsp;  \nHe felt himself about to smack his beak into the ice and paddled the air\u0026nbsp;  \nfrantically to slow down, to right himself. It worked without grace but\u0026nbsp;  \nwithout hurting himself, at least.  \n  \nOkay. Up to the ledge. He made another running start and gained\u0026nbsp;  \naltitude, then marveled at how he'd done it more easily this time. Up\u0026nbsp;  \nand around, toward the ledge... bad idea! He aborted the landing and\u0026nbsp;  \nturned so he could come at it from the side and give himself more space.\u0026nbsp;  \nThe icy stone rushed at him, and he held out his talons. There! He\u0026nbsp;  \nflapped furiously to tilt and slow to a stop, and wobbled nearly to the\u0026nbsp;  \nedge before all was still again. Then a pebble skittered loose and\u0026nbsp;  \nstartled him. Good enough. His discarded clothes looked absurdly big.\u0026nbsp;  \nMaybe he could lift them? He grabbed one glove in his left talons, kind\u0026nbsp;  \nof liking the feel of pliant leather caught in his grip, and lifted off\u0026nbsp;  \nagain. He awkwardly grabbed the thing in both feet now and rose, higher\u0026nbsp;  \nand higher until he was up above the whole cliff, back where his\u0026nbsp;  \nbackpack was. He dropped the glove and posed vainly. Success! He made\u0026nbsp;  \nhis way to the cliffside again, peered down, and gulped. \"Come on,\" he\u0026nbsp;  \ntold himself. \"I can do this.\"  \n  \nHe still screeched in fear as he jumped off the cliff. But when he\u0026nbsp;  \nswooped up again and back to level flight, he made the same noise on\u0026nbsp;  \npurpose, happily this time. It was like the best amusement park ride! He\u0026nbsp;  \nwent down again to snag his other glove without even stopping on the\u0026nbsp;  \nrock. He made two more trips to get his shoes, though those were more\u0026nbsp;  \nrigid and heavy. Back up at the clifftop he caught his breath and rested\u0026nbsp;  \nhis wings. The coat wasn't going to be practical to retrieve this way;\u0026nbsp;  \nit was too big. He leaned over the edge and thought, tilting his head.\u0026nbsp;  \nThere was more to learn today.  \n  \nHe descended carefully to the ledge where he'd left it. He kicked it off\u0026nbsp;  \nthe edge, careful not to snag his talons in it and go tumbling along. He\u0026nbsp;  \nswooped down to reach it back on safe ground.  \n  \nHe'd been able to turn back, those other times, only once he'd calmed\u0026nbsp;  \ndown. So it was voluntary, kinda, not keyed to the moon or anything. He\u0026nbsp;  \ncarefully leaned back until he was laying down with his wings spread,\u0026nbsp;  \nmaking a snow angel. He shut his eyes and imagined himself stretching,\u0026nbsp;  \ngrowing. A few moments later, though he wasn't sure quite when, it\u0026nbsp;  \nreally happened. His toes were reshaping on longer feet and his feathers\u0026nbsp;  \nfaded back into his body, leaving him dressed in his still-intact\u0026nbsp;  \nclothes and laying there shivering on the frozen ground. He laughed and\u0026nbsp;  \nsaid out loud, \"I did it! On purpose this time!\"  \n  \nHis transformation and his flying called for a celebration, starting\u0026nbsp;  \nwith getting warm. He struggled to put on his coat. At first he batted\u0026nbsp;  \nat it with his hands like he'd briefly forgotten how his fingers worked,\u0026nbsp;  \nbut he got the thing on and settled it over his shoulders. Comforting,\u0026nbsp;  \nlike the feel of wings draped over his back and sides. The question was,\u0026nbsp;  \ncould he shift again while wearing it?  \n  \nHe crouched and recalled how he'd felt when the change happened last\u0026nbsp;  \ntime in both directions. It took a while, but he could feel his teeth\u0026nbsp;  \nmelding together and pushing out from his mouth into the hard shape of a\u0026nbsp;  \nbeak; his coat fading into the mass of his feathers. He didn't feel any\u0026nbsp;  \nheavier for carrying this extra mass around. Still he took off\u0026nbsp;  \ncautiously and circled a bit before heading up to the clifftop.  \n  \nSoon he stood with his pile of ferried-up shoes and gloves and his\u0026nbsp;  \nbackpack, and imagined somebody coming along and thinking he'd stripped\u0026nbsp;  \nand thrown himself off the cliff. He'd have to come and do that more\u0026nbsp;  \noften! He looked warily around, then shifted back to human again before\u0026nbsp;  \nreally thinking about it. Once he was fully dressed again he crept close\u0026nbsp;  \nto the edge to look down once more, but he kept his distance this time.\u0026nbsp;  \nHe might try some kind of fancy midair shifting, but, like, over a pile\u0026nbsp;  \nof pillows or a swimming pool. Another day.  \n  \nFor now, he walked home with a spring in his step.  \n  \n#  \n  \nHis mother was washing dishes when he got in. \"You're up early for a\u0026nbsp;  \nweekend.\"  \n  \nRichard couldn't wipe the smile off his face. \"Wanted to do some hiking.\u0026nbsp;  \nHave we got hot chocolate?\"  \n  \n\"I'll make some in a minute. Guess you burned off a lot of energy flying\u0026nbsp;  \naround out there.\"  \n  \nRichard startled. He began to feel the prickling of feathers, or maybe\u0026nbsp;  \njust goosebumps, and had to stuff that feeling back down. \"What?\" She\u0026nbsp;  \ndidn't know, or so he thought.  \n  \nMom smiled. \"Racing all over the woods, I mean. Just don't hurt\u0026nbsp;  \nyourself. But I guess a boy has to pick up a few scrapes and bruises to\u0026nbsp;  \nlearn.\"  \n  \nHe'd managed not to hurt himself, much, but his arms were sure tired and\u0026nbsp;  \nhis lungs burned with fatigue. His toes still felt like they wanted to\u0026nbsp;  \nclench and grab things. \"Yeah,\" he said. \"I'll be careful. I learned a\u0026nbsp;  \nlot today, though. It was fun.\"  \n  \nShe mixed some cocoa powder and milk and put the mug in the microwave\u0026nbsp;  \nfor him. \"Good. Now, how's that science report going?\"  \n  \nRichard groaned. He couldn't fly away from everything. But come to think\u0026nbsp;  \nof it... \"I needed a topic, and I've got one. I'm going to write about\u0026nbsp;  \nhawks, and flying.\"  \n  \n\"Saw one out there?\"  \n  \nHe perked back up with a smile. \"Yeah! A red-tail!\"  \n  \n\"Are you sure?\"  \n  \n\"Pretty sure, yeah. I got a good look.\" He grabbed the hot drink and\u0026nbsp;  \nsipped gratefully.  \n  \n\"Glad it inspired you, anyway. I'm sure you're not alone in not having\u0026nbsp;  \nstarted your report yet.\"  \n  \nRichard nodded. He probably wasn't alone in being what he was, either,\u0026nbsp;  \nor at least having the same kind of power. Somewhere out there, other\u0026nbsp;  \npeople were just figuring things out. Maybe even at his school, for all\u0026nbsp;  \nhe knew! Maybe he could drop a hint in his report and see if anyone\u0026nbsp;  \nasked. It'd be a little scary, but totally worth trying.  \n  \nHe went out flying again on Sunday, too, for research purposes. There\u0026nbsp;  \nwas always more to learn!  \n  \n\n"}