Dawn's golden fingers touched the edge of Windstead, painting the palm trunks in soft amber. Aiman stood at the base of a low hill just beyond the village's last hut, the morning air still moist with dew. His small wooden staff rested at his side, and the Gale Sage watched with a patient nod, as if time itself bent to accommodate their lesson.
"Begin with your feet," the Sage instructed, voice quiet in the hush of sunrise. "Move as though you tread on air—light and unburdened."
I swallowed, shifting the staff to my other hand, and tried to imagine what it meant to be "light and unburdened." My stomach fluttered. Just yesterday, I'd nearly knocked over Old Musa. Today, I wanted to prove that I could walk like the wind itself—steady, gentle, and sure.
I planted my right foot carefully, heel then ball then toes, and lifted my left foot as if stepping onto a cloud. In slow motion, I placed it down, heel to toe, replicating what the Sage had shown me when he called it "leaf‐on‐water" footwork. Each step felt unnatural—my legs heavy, my balance shaky. A few villagers emerged from their huts, pulling on simple sandals as they went to early chores. Their eyes followed my stuttering progress, a mix of curiosity and skepticism in their expressions.
I paused midstride, heart threatening to bolt. The Sage's voice drifted over: "Breathe, Aiman. Feel the wind beneath your feet—carry your weight in its currents."
I closed my eyes, drawing in a slow breath. The breeze stirred my hair, the green fronds overhead whispering faint encouragement. I pictured my feet as feathers—weightless, hovering over grass instead of crushing it.
When I opened my eyes, I stepped forward again—this time with more intention. My heel kissed the ground, and I felt the tiniest shimmer of air lifting me before my toes reached down. For a whisper of a moment, I hovered—frail, unsteady, but hovering.
I smiled to myself, unable to believe the flicker of success. The villagers paused their tasks, whispering: "Look at the boy," "He's a leaf on the wind," "We've never seen a child move so lightly." Those words stirred pride and fear in my chest—pride that I'd done it, fear that it may vanish with the next misstep.
The Gale Sage nodded approvingly. "Good. Now, let each step flow into the next. Imagine tracing circles through the air, not just walking. Turn your body slightly as you step—like water spiraling around a rock."
I lifted my arms instinctively, bending my elbows to mimic swirling shapes. As I shifted weight from one foot to the other, I pivoted ever so slightly—left, right, left, right—creating a gentle spiraling pattern in the grass. Each rotation felt like an invitation: softly, to coax the wind to accompany my movement.
A faint breeze followed, ruffling the tops of grass blades in concentric waves. It tickled my toes, searching for a gesture of willingness. My heart thudded—I realized the wind was no mere spectator but a partner.
I closed my eyes, savoring the sensation. Step, pivot—wind tickle. Step, pivot—wind gather. With each rotation, I felt my confidence bloom. Soon, I was circling the same patch of ground again and again, each revolution smoother than the last.
From the tree line, Bubaan—the village midwife—watched with interest, her wrinkled face softening into a rare smile. "He's come far," she told a nearby neighbor. "That swirl on the ground… it's a child's gift, but he's learning its shape."
My sister, perched atop a low stone ledge, cheered quietly each time I completed a full circle. "Faster, Aiman! Like a leaf in the monsoon!"
I grinned, redoubling my focus. The wind around me seemed to laugh—a gentle rasp against my skin—as if egging me on. Emboldened, I took a small run: four paces, then leaped onto a flat, mossy rock jutting from the grass. My knees buckled, and I teetered—heart in my throat—but before I could topple, a supportive swirl lifted me, letting me land on the rock's tiptoe.
I exhaled, realizing I'd hovered a fraction of a second longer than gravity should have allowed. The Gale Sage nodded, eyes bright with pride. "There—see how the wind buoyed you? But remember, balance comes from within, not from relying on breezes alone."
I tapped the rock, chest still throbbing. "I… I felt it. Like a pillow under my feet."
"Exactly," the Sage said. "The wind is your cushion, not your crutch. One day, you'll dance across storms the same way."
A nearby fisherman shook his head in wonder. "I've never seen a child move like that—like water flowing."
I beamed, though my cheeks burned with humility. It felt strange to be both the spectacle and the student.
The Sage gestured with a sweep of his staff, and the wind rippled around us once more. "Let's finish for today. You've taken fledgling steps worthy of a Gale Dancer."
As I hopped down from the rock, my legs trembling, my father emerged to lead me home. His smile was a mix of pride and relief. "You're learning faster than I dared hope." He tousled my hair gently, careful not to disturb the swirl of wind that still clung to me.
I laughed, setting my staff aside. "The wind helped."
Mother placed a hand on my shoulder, guiding me forward. "You did it yourself. The wind only answered."
Tomorrow, I knew, I would return to this clearing and trace those spirals again—harder, smoother, more certain. But for now, as I walked home under the rising sun, my steps felt lighter than ever, carrying me forward on the promise that the wind and I were learning to move as one.