Bluey Bluebird pumped her wings hard and rose above the foothills, chasing the sky-dancers who spun far over the highest peaks. She wanted to join them. She had wanted it since she first saw them, tiny specks looping through the clouds. But her wings burned after only a few minutes. She dropped fast and grabbed a weathered fence post to keep from falling. Her chest heaved. The peaks stayed far away, higher than she had ever flown. A voice came from below. "You climb like you're angry at the sky." Bluey looked down. A woman sat on the plank fence, dressed in a blue robe printed with clouds. A white feather hung in her dark hair. She watched Bluey with calm brown eyes. "Who are you?" Bluey asked, still panting. "Celeste Windrider. I danced above those peaks for twenty years." She said it plainly, like naming the weather. "Now I watch other birds try. Most quit before summer." Bluey's heart jumped. A real sky-dancer sat five feet away. "Then teach me. I want to dance up there. I've wanted it my whole life." Celeste tilted her head. "You flap too fast. You fight the air instead of riding it. That's why you tire." She pointed to a hawk gliding overhead, wings still. "He barely moves. He lets the warm air carry him. You must learn to find it." Bluey glanced at the peaks, then back. "Show me." Celeste stood on the fence and stretched one arm toward a sunny slope. "Warm air rises off bare ground. Circle inside it. Don't flap. Trust it." She lowered her arm. "Go to that slope. Spread your wings and hold them still." Bluey flew to the slope. It felt wrong to stop flapping. Her body wanted to work. But she spread her wings and held them stiff. For a moment she sank. Then something pushed up under her. Warm air lifted her without effort. She rose in a slow circle, higher, then higher, and she never once beat her wings. She laughed out loud. The foothills shrank below her. Her wings did not burn. She climbed past the height where she always fell, and kept climbing. Celeste called up, her voice smaller now. "That's it! The mountains make bigger currents than the hills. Ride them and you'll reach the peaks." Bluey circled down and landed on the fence, breathing easy. "I can do it now. I can reach them." "You can reach them," Celeste agreed. Then she frowned. "But the sky-dancers don't take just anyone who arrives. There's a trial at the peak. A test of dancing, not flying. And I've seen strong fliers turned away for failing it." Bluey's grin faded. Reaching the peaks had felt like the whole battle. Now she saw it was only the door. Beyond it waited a test she knew nothing about.