THORNS OF LOVE

High atop a windswept cliff, far from the cozy communal nests of other birds in the valley below, resided Aethel the mountain hawk-eagle. Aethel was a large, bulky eagle of forested hills. Her small head rested above immensely broad wings, and a large, fanned-out tail. A thin upright crest crowned her regal form.

Solitary and focused, she fiercely guarded her nest; overlooking flocks of pigeons below. They huddled together in their soft, feathery nests, with their young ones squawking for scraps scavenged from the town square.

Unlike them, her eaglets, Soar and Rye, had a different upbringing. She believed in pushing them beyond their comfort zones. Their nest, woven from coarse branches, lacked the softness of feathers or straw that other birds would usually line their nests with, offering a comfortable abode to their young ones. As weeks rolled by, Aethel deliberately introduced prickly thorns in the bed of the nest. This added to the discomfort of the eaglets and they flapped their tiny wings to find a soothing place within the nest.

 

"Why must she do this?" Soar grumbled, fluffing his downs against a prick. "Nest is supposed to be, warm, comfortable and safe. This is torture! Oh, how unfortunate we are to live so high up in a scary nest with no friends to play and a cruel mother!"

 

Rye agreed and blurted pessimistically, "She is the worst mom anyone can get. She wants to pierce our tender skin and make us fall off this scanty nest! She’d be happy perhaps if we break our wings and become dinner for the vultures!"

 

Aethel, perched on a nearby crag, watched silently. Her heart ached at their discomfort, but she knew strength came from hardship. The world below was a vast expanse, demanding resilience and skill. Only those who could overcome fear, had the strength to survive alone and hone their talents would survive. She had seen flocks of pigeons closely. Though reared in comfort; their young ones were fearful and lacked the strength to fly altitudes from where they could have a better view of the world. They were not accustomed to scary and dizzy heights. Though they flew in groups, they hardly helped each other, rather fought for food amongst themselves. She realized that it would be better to get her young ones used to the heights and discomfort to become strong alone rather than weak in a group.

 

Days turned into weeks, and the eaglets' grumbles grew into irritation. Every attempt to settle comfortably brought a thorn's prick and each nap was disrupted by the wind whipping through the sparse nest. Soar, fueled by frustration, began flapping his wings more frequently, testing his balance, defying the discomfort. Rye, cautiously observing, mimicked his brother's movements, albeit with less enthusiasm.

 

As time passed, Aethel even refused to feed them. They now had to hunt for their own food. As Soar ventured out of the nest, a gust of wind caught him off guard. He lost his balance, toppled over the edge, and plummeted towards the unforgiving ground. A scream tore from his throat, followed by Rye’s panicked squawk.

 

But Soar didn't fall. His wings had strengthened by weeks of practice against the thorns. They instinctively spread, gliding through the wind. He flapped, clumsily at first, and then with increasing power, he soared. A giddy laugh escaped his beak as he circled the cliff; the view of the vast world spread out beneath him was breathtaking! He spotted a flash of silver in the river below - a plump fish, far beyond the reach of his grounded counterparts. This was truly exciting, they could now feed themselves!

 

Rye, watching from the nest, could no longer contain his excitement. He launched himself into the air, his wings beating with newfound confidence. He wobbled, dipped, but never fell.

 

They swooped over the gushing river to grab their share of fish and flew high up. The world that once appeared scary now became a playground, and the two brothers, mastered the ways of the wind and skies.

 

As Soar and Rye circled back to the nest, exhilarated and full of their first catch, they looked at their mother with a reborn respect. Soar chirped shyly, with his wings around Aethel's, "Thank you, mom. We hated you for the thorns, but they made us fly! We can see so much further from up here, and we caught our own food! We don't need to be afraid of anything anymore."

 

Rye, nodding vigorously, added, "We wouldn't have known our strengths and freedom without your harsh love. Now we understand why you didn't let us be like the pigeons huddled together, scared of everything."

 

Aethel ruffled her feathers, a small smile playing on her beak. "The world is a harsh place, little ones," she said gently. "But with courage and resilience, you can soar above it all. Fly high and be free, my brave eagles."

 

From that day on, Soar and Rye practiced their flight, and built their confidence with each passing day. Aethel, watching them fly and feed themselves was happy. She knew her tough love had served its purpose. For in the end, it wasn't the softness of feathers that made them eagles, but the strength of their wings, forged in the face of adversity.

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