Heron Lake Plateau guiding light

There was in Kite a burgeoning rebellious streak, born of frustrations she could not yet put a name to. She was different, and she knew it, and she did not like it in the least. She stuttered when she signed, and she was never quite as fast or steady as her littermates. With every passing day, Father Time told her that she was never going to be. This brief flash of wickedness — running away from her poor, put-upon puppysitter — was the first time she had been the fastest at anything. Would it be the only time? Much to her dismay — she wanted to see for herself how cold the water was — Eljay managed to knock her onto dry land. The impact was terrific. She landed with a heavy thud that knocked the wind out of her, and when at last she could fill her lungs, she sucked oxygen heavily as if she’d been punched in the gut and spilled it on a slightly hysterical warcry.

The howl roared up from her gut like dragonsfire as she scrabbled wildly, trying to get her footing. It was easier now than it had been in her infancy, and she propped her wildly wobbling legs up and lifted her head to regard Eljay with her first true spike of defiance. “No!” she both shouted and signed, panting raggedly as she backpedaled one jittering pace, then another. “What’s the use?” she demanded, her pumpkin-orange eyes furious as she dared any of them to contradict her. “I’m never going to be a h-h-hunter! I can’t do the same things you can and it feels like — ” Her signing grew clumsy before slamming to a stop (as much of a stop as the fluttering Kite was capable of).