The Kestrel
Spitfire wriggled forwards on her belly, craning her head to peer through a collection of reeds directly in front of her. Sure, she could use her wings, but where was the fun in that? Her quarry was a few mere metres ahead of her, and her wings wouldn’t be required until later. The weather, thankfully, had been dry for days, and the beating sun above kept Spitfire’s underbelly dry and relatively mud-free. She’d ditched her Wonderbolts flight suit earlier in the day, of course. All of her Wonderbolts gear was cleverly tucked away in the hollow of a nearby tree. After all, it wasn’t the most discreet of clothing. She snickered, glancing back to reassure herself. ‘Well, my coat is hardly suited for this, is it?’ she thought glumly, wishing for a few mere moments that her coat were simply a dull green, rather than her glorious light-golden colouration.
“Here, birdy birdy birdy,” she murmured, scooting forwards a few more inches. She’d learnt a lot from this particular flight of kestrels, but had developed almost a ‘friendship’ with them. Not that they’d seen much of her, but she preferred just to observe. After all, where better could she learn to fly properly but from creatures who existed to fly? She smiled wryly, thinking of all the tricks and ideas she’d picked up from them. Most of the other Wonderbolts had learnt their skills from their predecessors, or stacks upon stacks of flying manuals and textbooks. Not her.
Spitfire looked on as one of the speckled-brown kestrels launched itself into the air, hovering above the surface of the lake. The pegasus held her breath in awe as the creature before her floated lazily above the water, sending small ripples across the mirror-esque surface with beats from its wings. “She gets better at that every week...” Spitfire noted quietly, watching the fledgling turn as it searched for insects. One sharp dive later and the little kestrel flew back to its nest, munching happily on a grasshopper.
‘I wonder if that works the same for pegasi...’ she pondered, remembering how the tiny bird positioned its wings for the extra burst of speed. Of course, her parents had no need for that little trick, but Spitfire could use whatever she saw. She liked that flick of the feathers. With almost no hesitation, she propelled herself into the air with a strong blast from her own wings, demonstrating her legendary acceleration. As the crisp wind ruffled her mane and the beating sun warmed her wings, Spitfire let out a sigh of relief. ‘I don’t do this nearly enough,’ she thought happily, still racing into the sky at an admirable pace.
As she came to a halt several-hundred metres above the tiny lake below, she grinned with excitement. Spitfire loved attempting new tricks and styles she’d learnt off various birds, and the thrill of a new discovery stuck with her for many days after. But this trick? Something new to boost her already awe-inspiring speed. Of course, she was no means the fastest pegasus in Equestria, but her ruthless training and practice meant she could reach her top speed in a matter of seconds, easily outpacing her slower, steadier fellow Wonderbolts. She breathed in excitedly, using her powerful wings to keep herself airborne.
“C’mon Spitz, this is easy! Just gotta... give it all you’ve got. Yeah, this is gonna work!” she enthused, preparing herself for the plummet awaiting her. A brief downwards glance confirmed that she was still floating above the lake, much like the fledgling kestrel she’d been watching, although at a much higher altitude. And the lake? ‘Well, juuust in case this makes me go too fast,’ she thought wryly, hoping that she wouldn’t end up soaked to the bone. After all, Soarin’ would suspect something if she innocently suggested she’d been swimming, which she hated with a passion. Spitfire couldn’t stand wet wings. Fluffy wings were the bane of pegasi everywhere. She recalled the only time she’d ever been swimming with her parents. Well, her mum. Spitfire had quite liked the texture of the cool water splashing onto her sore wing muscles, but quickly grew more grumpy when she realised even flight feathers could turn soft and almost useless under a warm summer sun.
The pegasus snapped herself out of the nostalgia-induced reverie, drawing a final quick breath of anticipation. “Well, here goes!” she whooped, letting herself drop like a stone! As the freezing wind pummeled her face, she almost forgot to retract the tiny feathers she’d first noticed on the baby falcon. She barely had time to refocus on her aim before she began to drop like a... well, like a rock-shaped boulder. “Aaaaaahh!” she squeaked, the very air forced back into her lungs before she regained enough sense to shut her mouth. She sailed through the air for a long time (by Spitfire’s standards, of course) before realising the lake below was rapidly approaching. Too rapidly, perhaps, for the mare to stop herself in time! After another ill-fated intake of breath, she tried to use her wings to level out her descent, hoping to brush the undergrowth by a matter of inches.
It was no use. Several seconds of frantic wing-angling and panicked flaps had done little but bring her over the middle of the body of water, as if the air itself had known what was coming next. A titanic plume of water sprayed into the air as Spitfire hit the surface of the tranquil lake, disturbing the birds and wildlife that had collected around it throughout the day. She surfaced immediately, spluttering and gasping for air. As she slowly regained her breath and cleared her lungs of water, she smiled uncontrollably, adrenaline coursing through her veins. “Not bad!” she remarked happily, wiping her sodden mane out of her eyes. “Admittedly, not a great landing... but it worked! Another one to add to the collection!” She propelled herself towards the shore with a mixture of hooves and wings, already wincing as she imagined the trauma she’d go through later, trying to coax the fluffy feathers to return to their normal, shining condition.
Her ears drooped slightly with embarrassment as she noticed the kestrels gathered around, looking at her with their penetrating, intelligent eyes. To them, she was still a clumsy horse with wings, only a shadow of their carefully-honed perfection. ‘Hey, you’re a Wonderbolt!’ she thought, puffing her chest out subconsciously. ‘They’re just bunch of feather-brained birds that can’t do half the stuff you can!’ Her previous moment of disappointment disappeared as she remembered what she’d just achieved, minus the landing. Granted, most weeks consisted of watching the birds preen their feathers — which she’d awkwardly tried once, but never again — and devour worms or, on occasion, a water vole. Most of the tricks she learnt were just boring ol’ strategies for improving her endurance, but this? This new trick was bound to turn some heads in one of her routines, especially for the national Fillydelphia Derby! With that thought in mind, she happily clambered out of the water and trotted off to fetch her hidden Wonderbolts kit, mind already imagining her spectacular dives at her next practice. After all, a Wonderbolt had to impress. What was more impressive than dropping faster than most ponies could follow with her eyes? She pondered this for a second, looking back at the kestrel.
“Well, I can’t imagine Soarin’ letting me hunt him like a vole!” she murmured, smiling as she pushed through the dense reed-bank. Today had been a good day.
