Here Here
Here Here
They came in the evening, then, and found Ionathan gliding
peaceful and alone through his beloved sky. The two gulls that
appeared at his wings were pure as starlight, and the glow from
them was gentle and friendly in the high night air. But most
lovely of all was the skill with which they flew, their wingtips
moving a precise and constant inch from his own. Without a word,
Jonathan put them to his test, a test that no gull had ever
passed. He twisted his wings, slowed to a single mile per hour
above stall. The two radiant birds slowed with him, smoothly,
locked in position. They knew about slow flying.
He folded his wings, rolled and dropped in a dive to a hundred
ninety miles per hour. They dropped with him, streaking down in
flawless formation.
At last he turned that speed straight up into a long vertical
slow-roll. They rolled with him, smiling.
He recovered to level flight and was quiet for a time before he
spoke. "Very well," he said, "who are you?"
"We're from your Flock, Jonathan. We are your brothers." The
words were strong and calm. "We've come to take you higher, to
take you home."
"Home I have none. Flock I have none. I am Outcast. And we fly
now at the peak of the Great Mountain Wind. Beyond a few hundred
feet, I can lift this old body no higher."
"But you can Jonathan. For you have learned. One school is
finished, and the time has come for another to begin."
As it had shined across him all his life, so understanding
lighted that moment for Jonathan Seagull. They were right. He
could fly higher, and it was time to go home.