Chapter 14

Chapter

Fourteen

I can senseClaire"s apprehension, a palpable tension in the air that seems to thicken with every step we take into the woods. As a hawk shifter, my instincts are finely tuned to the emotions of those around me, especially fear. It"s a predator"s sense, I suppose, but right now, it"s not prey I"m honing in on—it"s Claire"s fear, and it gnaws at me.

She"s right beside me, her steps cautious but determined. There"s a resilience about her, a strength that belies her petite frame. Wide-eyed, yes, but there"s an intelligence in those eyes, a fierce spark that tells me she"s not one to back down easily. It"s admirable, really, how she"s facing her fears head-on. Most would balk at the idea, find any excuse to avoid confronting what terrifies them the most. But not Claire.

I steal a glance at her as we navigate the uneven path, the underbrush whispering secrets beneath our feet. She"s more than just a pretty face lost in the woods; she"s a story waiting to be told. And I find myself wanting to read every page.

I lead the way down a narrow animal path, the foliage parting before us like a green sea. The further we go, the more I feel Claire"s anxiety radiating off her in waves. It"s not just the fear of heights that"s got her on edge; it"s the unknown, the what-ifs that haunt the edge of her thoughts.

The path eventually opens up to a secluded meadow, a hidden gem amidst the wild. Tall grasses sway in the gentle breeze, butterflies dance among the wildflowers, and the sun bathes everything in a warm, golden light. It"s peaceful here.

"This is it," I announce, gesturing to the clearing.

I study Claire, noticing the subtle tremble in her hands, the way she bites her lip in concentration. It"s a familiar dance of nerves and bravery, one I"ve done myself countless times before each game, before the world decided my path would veer off the diamond.

She looks around, taking in the beauty of the place, and for a moment, I see the fear in her eyes give way to wonder. It"s a fleeting change, but it"s there, and it gives me hope.

"Flying is more about the mind than the body," I begin, my voice steady and calm. "It"s about letting go, trusting yourself to the air. But first, we breathe. Just like in yoga or meditation, breathing is where it all starts."

Claire raises an eyebrow. "Breathing?"

"Yes, breathing. Why?"

"I thought... I don"t know. I thought you"d just throw me off a cliff or something."

I chuckle at the thought. "Would you like me to throw you off a cliff?"

She gives me a look that"s half-amused, half-terrified. "Not particularly."

"Good choice," I smile. "Let"s start with something a bit less dramatic."

I clear a space, gesturing for her to sit. She looks skeptical but complies, sitting cross-legged on the soft earth. I sit opposite her, mirroring her posture. "Close your eyes," I instruct. "Focus on your breath. Inhale deeply through your nose, hold it for a moment, then exhale slowly through your mouth."

I watch her chest rise and fall, the initial rapid pace gradually slowing as she follows my guidance. "Feel the air fill your lungs, the energy it brings," I continue. "Now, with each exhale, release your fears, your doubts."

Claire"s brows knit together, a silent testament to the struggle within. I can"t help but empathize.

"Remember, the key is to let go," I say, softening my tone to ease the tension. "Think of a feather on the breeze. It doesn"t fight the wind; it moves with it, becomes one with it."

She nods, a flicker of understanding in her eyes, and I"m reminded of my first flight, the weight of expectation, the fear of failure. It"s a leap of faith, and right now, I"m asking her to trust not just in herself but in me, a near stranger who"s seen more falls than successful takeoffs in life.

"Here, stand up. Let"s try something." I stand up behind her, my presence a silent promise of support. "Feel the ground beneath you, solid and steady. Now, imagine that same stability, that same support, but from the air." I place a reassuring hand on her shoulder, feeling the tension coiled like a spring. "You"re safe. I"ve got you."

Claire takes a deep breath, and I feel her relax ever so slightly under my touch. "Focus on that point where the earth meets the sky. That"s where we"re aiming." I guide her gaze to the horizon, where the blue sky kisses the gound. "Beautiful, isn"t it?"

She murmurs her agreement, her attention caught by the natural splendor that"s been the backdrop to my life"s most turbulent and tranquil moments. It"s here, in this balance between earth and sky, that I"ve found any semblance of peace.

"Now, when you"re ready," I continue, "take a step forward. Not to fly, just to feel the shift, the possibility." My voice is a steady drumbeat, a grounding force against the swirl of her doubts.

Claire takes that step, tentative but determined, and I feel a surge of pride. It"s not about the flight, not yet. It"s about the willingness to stand at the edge of the known and gaze into the unknown with hope, not fear.

"Every movement, every breath, brings you closer to the sky," I explain. "Feel the energy flowing through you, from the tips of your toes to the top of your head."

Claire moves with cautious grace, her focus turning inward. I can see the moment when something shifts within her, the tension in her shoulders easing ever so slightly.

"Now," I say, stepping back to give her space, "imagine the air around you, alive with energy. Imagine it lifting you, holding you. You"re not just moving through it; you"re a part of it."

She closes her eyes, her brow furrowed in concentration. I watch, holding my breath, as she extends her arms, palms up, to the sky.

"It"s okay to be scared," I find myself saying. "But don"t let the fear ground you. You were born to fly."

Her eyes meet mine, a mix of vulnerability and emerging trust shining back. "I think I'm beginning to believe that," she says, the first hints of real confidence threading through her words.

And in that moment, I see it—the potential for her to soar, not just in the air, but in everything she chooses to tackle. In teaching Claire to fly, I"m reminded of my own first uncertain flaps towards the heavens. It"s more than just flight; it"s finding freedom, one brave breath at a time.