“Yup, yup,” Mul said. He slapped his leather saddlebags and bounced up and down. “Winds are good, I’m set, let’s do it!”
“Ha, ha, you’re nuts kiddo,” Bront said. “Your buck doesn’t seem as willing.”
It was true. Mul was an agile boy and doing a good job compensating for his buck’s jerks and kicks. Mul grabbed the saddle knob and dug his heels into the stirrups. “Naw,” he said. “He’s just born to be in the air.”
“Yeah, alright,” Bront said. “Then pick up those reigns and drop when you’re ready.”
Mul’s smile dropped a half inch, but then he lowered his brow and nodded. “Here we go Tessla,” he said. He leaned over the edge of the launch point. The grey stone stuck out in points all the way down the vertical drop. The clouds swirled in the breeze; strong; from the east.
Tessla curled his long neck and bawked. “Wow there,” Mul said. Tessla’s claws scrapped the clay stone of the launch pad. “Okay, wings out Tessla, wings out!”
The pair tumbled off and into the wind. Mul screamed and gripped the reigns against his chest. “Pull up!”
“Bawk!”
“Flap Tessla, flap your wings!”
“Bawk!”
Then the beast remembered himself and thrust out his leather wings. The air dragged the pair up. Mul was driving low in his saddle. “Ouf!” He said. Then Tessla fell into a rhythm and floated on towards Ur, where Mul would either become the prince his people needed him to be, or find someone who could.
