Taking Flight

     After a time, the townsfolk left. There were fish to catch, scallops to can, oysters to farm, and none of it was on a lonely island in the middle of the sea.

     Yet she persevered.

     The greying Lenny with thinning hair tended the lighthouse alone, a sandy-coloured Meowclops with a messy dollop of brown fur her only companion. Keeping the Fresnel lens lit, fixing up the house and lifesaving station, and preparing meals left her with little time to rest. Even in the roughest of weather, she would scan from their little cottage on the hill with a spotting scope, watching for any Neopians who might need aid. This lighthouse was a beacon of hope for many who fished these dangerous, shallow waters. Countless lives saved, shipwrecks spared, and all it took was a little loneliness in the midst of the water. Such was a small price to pay to protect the hardy boatsmen and their crews. But, oh! How her back ached after a long day. Time was slowly catching up to her, as it did her husband. Even so, even then, it was their duty. Her duty. And one that she would carry out until her end.

     A rumble of thunder shook the cottage as she ate, a half-eaten plate of food in one wing, scope handle in the other. Waves crashed upon the cliffside as the wind sang like a siren’s song. This would be a bad one, one of the worst storms this year. She hoped, as she did during any storm, that no soul would be trapped in its clutches.

     As the winds were dying down, she took one more look for good measure. Thankfully, it seemed like this would be a quiet evening in front of the fireplace. Maybe even time to read a book—

     Red.

     A bright flash of red caught her eye. It was fighting against the wind and losing, dipping lower with each flap… and it was headed straight for the cliffs.

     “Watch over the house for me, Brackish!”

     The Meowclops seemed more content to lick her back and scarcely spared a glance towards her elderly owner, even as the lighthouse keeper donned her rain gear and dashed out of the house.

     It took only a few minutes to unhitch the lifesaving boat and move it towards the raging sea. She jumped in the middle, oars in hand, and rowed across the waves. A streak of red bobbed up and down, desperately fighting the clutches of the pounding rain, but was losing steam. It rose and fell beneath the waves, over and over, with less time above and more time below. Shouts for help were all but lost as the wind howled. But she was not about to give up. Not today. Not when there was a life to save.

     When the poor soul caught sight of her, he waved desperately, trying and failing to swim in her direction. There was something wrong with his wing… it was dragging behind him. She quickened her pace, pushing, pushing, hoping that she would make it in time.

     When he went down and didn’t rise up again, her heart sank. She was only feet away from him… she was so close… But no. He could still be saved. Would be saved.

     Without thinking, she dove in beak first, feeling the rush of water brush past her rain-repellent clothes. Bubbles burst all around her, some her own from the jump, but others… from the desperate soul who needed her. She reached down and felt something—a wing—before pulling it forward towards the air. When both of them emerged, the lad, a Pteri who looked to be no more than in his early 20s, let out a gasping breath. With all of her strength, she hoisted him onto the boat. Ignoring all of her aches and pain, she joined him, pushing against every screaming muscle to make it back to shore. He was soaked to the feather, shivering, barely conscious, and his left-wing lay limp, but… he was alive. And that was all that mattered.

     It took every bit of energy to drag him back to the house. Once he was in dry clothes, under a pile of clean blankets, and a few feet from the fire, the old Lenny sunk into a rocking chair in her nightgown and fell asleep instantly.

     A sunbeam crossed her face the next morning, waking her up with a start. The fire had died down, but evidence of its warmth still remained. Every muscle yearned for rest, and screamed in defiance at her every move from the soft recesses of the chair. Wobbling, she grabbed the armrest and pivoted to the sleeping lad. Her Meowclops nestled atop him and was purring while his blanket slowly rose… and fell. He made it through the night.

     “I’ll go put on some soup…” she said to herself, creaking with every step. “This one’s going to have a healthy appetite…”

     It took almost two days before the lad, who called himself “Baywing,” stirred. He was a shy Pteri with auburn feathers on his back and wings, a white tummy, with bright red chest and cheeks that made him look almost jolly. Messy chestnut hair complimented his shaggy beard. He rarely opened up about his past, merely stating that he was finding his way in the world alone.

      When he first awoke, he flapped in alarm, thrashing like some trapped sea creature. He immediately yelped in pain, which caused his new friend, Brackish, to grip him with her claws before fleeing. Only when the wing was wrapped in a tight sling and some medicinal herbs granted for pain did he manage to rest again. Wisdom, being so far away from civilization, had learned some first aid and medicine; few doctors would make the trip to her isolated island, especially in nasty weather. It helped some, but only so much that could be done with limited resources and amateur skills.

     ~x~

     Three months passed since that fateful storm.

     The pain of his wing kept him on light duty for many weeks. Even so, he insisted on helping in any way he could—carrying a few things to the shed, painting a room that needed care, and cleaning the plates after each meal. And when his injury would allow, he stretched and strengthened each muscle with exercise, finding some comfort in his ability to run two laps around the island.

     He tried and failed multiple times to take flight; it took weeks for him to realize his wing would never heal. On that day, he sat alone on the shoreline, watching the gentle waves as they tickled his feet in silence. Wisdom knew not to disturb him, nor to question why his face looked red and puffy at their evening meal.

     The next day, he set up the fishing lines at sunrise. She showed him how to balance the fishing rod against his legs while he reeled with his good wing, and he had grown quite skilled in the art. Smoking or baking became second nature the more she taught him; knowing that he could repay the elderly Lenny brought him some solace, even if he yearned for the sky. After some time, he learned how to row the boat in gentle waters, using this as yet another way to restrengthen his muscles. It proved faster to use his feet instead, pushing modified oars that were stuck to the boat rather than his wings.

     The two were near inseparable, even as Baywing kept his secrets locked away. Doing chores no longer seemed a drain for Wisdom, not with a capable friend to assist her… but in the back of her mind, she felt sad. Selfish, even. Had a doctor reached Baywing after his injury, would he have been able to fly? Could she have done more to save his mobility? Such were the questions she would never know the answer to, not now. At least now she was not alone in her duties. And a nagging thought stuck in the back of her mind: maybe now the lighthouse would have a future keeper.

     ~x~

     Three years went by. Time grew more difficult with each passing day on the old Lenny’s body. Together, Baywing and Wisdom guided dozens of ships to safety, and saved many wayward sailors in rough seas, earning the praise and admiration of the local folk.

     But today seemed… different. Dark clouds filled the midday sky, blotting out the sun. Thunder crashed all around as lightning struck any scarce trees or the lighthouse top. Wisdom was lying on the couch with a cold, her Meowclops companion snuggled up against her beak and purring like a motorboat while Baywing scanned the waters.

     There was something in the way the waves churned that made his stomach sour. Just then, a bright light flashed outside the window. A chill fell down his spine. It was all too familiar. Such was like the day when he lost his ability to fly. The boom of thunder woke both Wisdom and her Petpet as the cold compress on her forehead slipped onto her lap. Brackish jumped almost two feet in the air before landing on her feet and dashing beneath the table. Meanwhile, Wisdom let out a few coughs before turning back to the lad, now in his later 20s and still just as scraggly-bearded as before.

     “Is there…” she wheezed, “anyone out there?”

     He took a glance away from the scope and gently placed his hands on her shoulders and guided her back onto the couch. “I will keep watch. You focus on getting better.”

     She let out a grunt, clearly determined to stay awake while he was searching. He watched as swells crashed against the mighty shoreline, spray scattering all around, and felt a trickle of sweat beading down his neck. Hopefully, this would be an uneventful night, one where he could tend to Wisdom and then manage the lighthouse’s Fresnel lens.

     It was difficult to see anything between the waves; they moved like angry demons, gnashing at whatever was around. But even so, he stayed steady, keeping to his duty lest a—

     Boat. It was a small boat, a lifeboat, with a few Neopians barely holding on for dear life.

     “You see someone?” Wisdom tried to stand but fell back against the soft pillow. “We should…”

     “No. I should. Please watch over the house for me.” Realizing these could be his final words, he added, “Thank you for everything.” Before she could stop him, he took the rain gear and marched into the storm.

     She tried to follow behind, but the years had caught up to her. He was already out at sea by the time she made it to the boat house. Although she hated to do it, she returned back to their home and watched from the window.

     Baywing could feel the sea’s rage. It lashed out, tossing and turning the boat with reckless abandon. Still, the Pteri held firm, fighting against his body’s screams to flee. It begged him not to risk his life—to take solace in the safety of the little cottage that he had called home the last few years.

     But no. He had to save them.

     The oars fought against the sea as he pushed back with all his heart, soaring above the waves in the lifesaving vessel. When he reached the shipwrecked souls, they pulled themselves aboard with the help of his good wing… and together, they made it back to shore. Alive.

     When the lad returned, Wisdom gave him a long embrace. “Thank goodness you made it home…”

     He reciprocated a slight smile, rare for his solemn face. “Thank you for making it a home to return to…”

     Long after Wisdom departed from her years of service, the ones he saved that night pledged to stay. They built a monument in her honour, a stalwart Lenny whose gaze never left the sea no matter how rough and unforgiving it was. “Protecting Sailors, No Matter the Cost: The Wise Lenny of the Waves,” the engraving read. Together, Baywing the Lighthouse Keeper and his crew patrolled the seas, ensuring that anyone who travelled had safe passage. And if anyone was ever in danger, it was said that no boatman could fly over the waves faster than Baywing and his Winged Rangers.

     The End.