Welcome to the Open Sky

Aro tucked a little horn under his wing and stood tall.

“A very important delivery,” he announced.

Then he tucked his wing a little tighter.

“Honk!”

The horn had a squashy bulb. Aro had squeezed it with his elbow. He lifted his wing very slowly, as if his elbow had just said something rude.

Come close, little listener. I'm Ori, and that honk was supposed to be the beginning of our concert. Aro wanted to bring the horn to my cloud porch so we could play together.

“I want to do the big finish with you,” Aro called across the cloud corridor.

I tried my own horn. All that came out was “pff.”

“Mine needs a little practice,” I called back.

Aro nodded gravely. “Mine has already started.”

Between us lay a winding sky path. Two dark clouds rested in separate places along it. Aro would need a road around both to reach my porch. Our concert could wait, but it couldn't be a duet with us on different clouds.

At the start, Aro set down his horn and lowered a wing-tip feather. It left a golden line along the sky path. He could draw his whole road while his feet stayed planted, then tap the green check when he was ready to fly.

His first line went straight toward me.

Right into the first dark cloud.

“That space is taken,” Aro said.

He leaned sideways to study the cloud. His elbow landed on the horn.

“Honk!”

Aro straightened up. The cloud stayed exactly where it was.

“Yes,” he told the horn. “I asked nicely, too.”

Beside the cloud, the sky path made a roomy bend. Aro followed that bend with his eyes. His straight line had missed it completely.

He set the horn farther from his elbow. That part of the plan was easy to fix.

Aro began a fresh line from the start. This time he curved around the first cloud. His wing stayed low, sweeping in one long stroke.

“One cloud behind me,” he said, though his feet had not moved yet.

He lifted his feather to point at the second cloud, farther along. Then he put it down beyond that cloud and drew the last stretch to my porch.

He spread both wings.

“A road to Ori!”

But between those two pieces was a space with no line at all. Aro traced his plan in the air: a bend, a stop, and a jump. His wings slowly folded again.

“Oh. I drew the beginning and the end. I left out how to get between them.”

From my porch came another small “pff.” Aro's head dipped.

“Is the concert starting?” he asked.

“Just practicing,” I said. “Your place is here beside me.”

For a moment, Aro rested his feather. The horn rested too. Neither of them honked.

Now Aro raised his head. He looked beyond the first bend, past the second cloud, all the way to my porch. From his starting place, his wide eagle gaze could take in the whole corridor.

There was room around both clouds. He had found the first curve already. Now he found where it joined the second.

“I need to plan the middle, too,” he said. “All the way, then fly away.”

Before drawing, he followed the whole route with his eyes. Around one cloud, along the open space, around the other, right to me.

Then he began again beside his feet.

His feather swept around the first cloud. This time he kept it down. He carried the line through the middle, rounded the second cloud, and brought it to the edge of my porch.

One whole line. No jumps.

“All the way, then fly away,” Aro said.

He checked both bends. They stayed inside the sky path and clear of the clouds. Only then did he pick up his horn and tap the green check.

Whoosh! Aro rose along his golden road.

At the first bend he tilted one wing. His other elbow pressed the horn's bulb.

“Honk!”

Aro's tail gave a startled little wiggle, but his wings followed the curve he had planned. He sailed past the first cloud with plenty of room.

“First turn!” he called.

Ahead lay the middle of his road. This time the line kept going, and so did Aro. The wind ruffled his feathers. He stretched his wings wide, then leaned into the second bend.

His elbow squeezed the bulb again.

“Honk!”

From my porch, much closer now, came a tiny “pff.”

Aro chuckled. He had made it around both clouds. His line led straight to my waiting wing.

“Coming in for the big finish!”

He spread his tail, lowered his feet, and landed beside me. Ting! A new star joined the three he had earned on earlier journeys. Four stars shone above the porch.

But Aro was already turning toward my horn.

“Ready?” he asked.

I took a breath. Aro gave his bulb one magnificent squeeze.

“Honk!”

“Pff,” went mine.

Aro waited for a bigger sound. I tried again. “Pff.”

“I think,” I said softly, “that's all the sound mine has.”

Aro moved closer until our wings touched.

“Then that's your part. I like your part.”

He gave a little honk. I answered with my little puff. Aro tapped one foot. I tapped the other. Our porch became a concert stage with a very silly song.

Honk, pff. Honk, pff.

Between notes, Aro glanced back at his two sweeping bends.

“I kept fixing only one piece,” he said. “When I planned the whole road, I got here.”

He nudged my wing. “All the way, then fly away.”

Our last note was meant to be enormous. But Aro laughed halfway through his squeeze, and it came out as the smallest honk of the day.

It fit my puff perfectly.

Little listener, when one piece works but you're still stuck, look at your whole plan before you try again.