Flo and Mo and the Flying School

© 2008 by Sarah Matanah

“But I don’t want to go to flying school,” Mo said, following Flo and Mama D as slowly as he possibly could, “Can’t we just go with you to the council?”

“The dragon council isn’t meant for children,” Mama D said. “You’d just get bored and set things on fire. Come on Mo, keep up please. If I’m late, the leadership will think I’m insulting them. Then I’ll have to bring them all goats to make up for it.”

“You never bring us goats,” Flo said.

“No I don’t. I hate goats. Look, that must be your teacher.”

Above them a pale yellow dragon stood on a ledge, his neck craned around to look at his wings, which were brilliantly gold and flashing in the sun. As they came toward him he moved his wings into another position and twitched them so they glimmered.

“Excuse us,” Mama D said. The dragon whipped his head around with a crack. “My children, Flo and Mo, are here for flying school.”

“Of course. Mo, is it? Here comes the rest of the class.”

Three dragons about the same size as Flo and Mo landed on the ledge. A green one with gold wings landed last, hitting the very end of the ledge and having to grab it with his front claws and fight his way back up in a shower of rocks and gravel.

“You can call me Algin. This is Henri and Delaware,” the teacher said, pointing at a squat red dragon and a rangy turquoise one, “and the dragon scrambling for the edge there is Bertie.”

Everyone watched while Bertie struggled to solid ground.

Mama D muttered something about goats, twined tails with each of the twins, and raced off.

Mo could tell Flo was as uncomfortable as he was, but she was gazing off into the canyon trying to look cool. He practiced blowing a tiny purple flame he’d been working on.

Algin was looking at the shape the shadow of his wings made on the side of the mountain. He turned to the kids. “All right, let’s see where the new dragons fit in. Fly to that ridge and back. Stay half a wing length from the side of the mountain. When you get to the twisted pine, dive straight down, and then fly directly back here, skimming the ground. I’ll fly along with you to watch your technique.”

The young dragons lined up at the ledge. Delaware edged ahead of the others , lifting her wings so she was ready to take the lead. Mo lifted his too. If this was going to be a race, there was no way he was coming in last.

“Bertie, you wait until the others get moving. That way they won’t have to worry about bumping into you in the air. And see if you can try a little harder this time. With wings like those you ought to be able to manage some finesse,” Algin said. The green dragon pulled back. He held his head up, but Mo could see how much his wings drooped. Mo felt a flash of anger at Algin.

“I’ll drop my wings for the OK,” Algin said. He held his wings spread above him for longer than seemed necessary, then finally dropped them. All the dragons but Bertie leaped into the air.

Mo tried to keep up with Delaware, but she easily outdistanced him. She seemed to go farther than he did with each beat of the wings, and she barely paused between beats, pumping as if she were pounding something into the ground below them.

Mo gave up on the race. Instead, he concentrated  on staying the right distance from the mountain wall. Glancing back he could see Henri flying steadily along, precisely half a wing length from the wall. Flo was just below him looking distracted. Bertie bobbed along behind all of them. He was trying so hard to keep the right distance from the mountain that he kept making corrections. He ended up wiggling along next to the wall very slowly.

The pine tree almost hit Mo in the face before he noticed it. He pulled into a dive, watching the ground rush up at him and feeling the wind pushing against his face. For a moment he remembered why he loved flight. But by the time he was back at the ledge he was feeling angry and sick at the thought of whatever the teacher would have to say.

“Well, Bertie,” Algin said, after they had all watched him almost hit the ground in his dive and then struggle back to the ledge, alternately bumping his wings on the ground and then bouncing up far too high above it. He did get onto the ledge this time without starting a minor avalanche, but that didn’t seem to make Algin any more pleased with him. “These two haven’t had a flying lesson in their life, and they obviously weren’t paying attention, but you could still learn a thing or two from them. You have to beat with both wings, not just one for a while and then the other. Go do five more practice rounds. If it doesn’t improve, I’ll tie your left wing down for a while until you can remember to have your right one do its share of the work.” He had the rest of the group watch Bertie and point out his errors to him when he stopped at the ledge to rest between rounds.

Finally Algin left to go pick up some dinner for the group. All the little dragons huddled on the ledge to rest. Mo pulled Flo away from the group to talk.

“This is horrible. We can’t stay here. Mama D wouldn’t want us to if she knew what it was like.”

“All right, but we’re bringing Bertie. It’s even worse for him,” Flo said.

“Well, of course. We couldn’t leave him here.”

They found Bertie huddled against the side of the mountain, head tucked against his chest and his wings shielding his eyes.

Flo nudged him, “Bertie, do you have a relative at the dragon council?”

Bertie pulled his wing aside so that one of his eyes peeked out, “My aunt. She’s one of the leaders. Why?”

“We’re leaving, and you’re coming with us.”

“But...”

“Algin’s too mean to you,” said Mo. “I bet you flew better before you even came here.”

“Come on,” Flo said. “Now.” She almost pushed them off the ledge.

“They’re going to be mad at us,” Mo said. “We’ll be interrupting, and leaving school and everything.”

“I’ve got an idea about that,” Flo said.

Two hours later they flew into the middle of the dragon council, each carrying a goat in both arms. Even with his goat bleating and kicking under his arm, Bertie was flying straighter than he ever had at Flying School.