CHAPTER I
The watchful eagle glided high, while deep inside their sandy nest the turtle eggs, with their leathery shells, began to move. First one twitched, and then another. Little by little each egg joined in, until at last they were all twitching together in a freedom jazz dance.
In the excitement the tip of a turtle beak poked through the side of one shell. In no time at all eggs were splitting open and baby turtles were clamoring over each other to reach the fresh air.
At first glance all of the baby turtles looked alike, but looking closely it was easy to see the special things that made each one different. One turtle had a ragged edge on his shell. Another had a small crease right across the top of her head. One more had a much shorter tail than all of the others.
During this frantic time no one noticed these small differences. Leaving the nest and learning to survive was all any of them could imagine.
CHAPTER II
The young turtles' days were slow and easy, and each day was the same: wake up, warm in the morning sun, eat berries, warm in the afternoon sun, eat more berries, tuck in, and sleep till morning. It was one particularly bright morning that everything started to change.
Foster and his closest sister, Imogene, were enjoying a berry feast, when Foster spotted a particularly plump berry high on a bramble. He was sure he could reach it, and stretched his neck as far as it would go. As his mouth was reaching its target, Imogene let out a gasp.
"Oh, Foster!"
Startled, Foster jerked his neck into his shell, thinking her outburst was a warning.
"Oh no, Foster. I didn't mean to scare you."
"What happened?," Foster asked, his heart just starting to calm down.
"Nothing... I mean, I'm not sure," she hesitated. "Come out... please?"
Slowly, (that's how turtles do things) Foster brought his head out of his shell, as Imogene watched.
"Foster, what is that?" She was completely puzzled.
"You're making me nervous," said Foster, who was starting to feel bad in his stomach.
"Come to the stream," said Imogene, and she led him to a small pool at the stream's edge. In the glistening sunshine, Foster stretched his neck out over the water, using it like a mirror, and he was amazed at what he saw.
All along his neck were little quills poking through his skin. It looked like the neck of a young porcupine, but not exactly. It looked more like the neck of a newborn bird.
Foster was shaking with both fear and wonder.
"Let me see your neck," he blurted out to Imogene.
No quills, just regular turtle skin. Foster felt confused, which was something he had never felt before. What was going on? He didn't know.
Later, alone with his secret, Foster was scared. He began acting differently than before. His first reaction was to keep his neck hidden in his shell. He made sure to eat alone, and he stayed away from all the other turtles (except for Imogene). He began to wonder if he even was a turtle. Being different felt so strange.
Imogene helped Foster keep his secret, but like most secrets it couldn't stay hidden for long.
CHAPTER III
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Like most things that we don't want to happen, Foster's secret was discovered at a time when he was least ready for it. He had been sleeping underneath a long fern, with his head and neck completely tucked into his shell. One of his brothers, Eli, was passing by on his way to drink at the spring. He wouldn't have noticed Foster at all if a bump in the road hadn't pushed him right over to where Foster was sleeping. |
| Eli didn't want to disturb Foster, but as he straightened himself up to continue his trip he noticed a feather sticking out of the edge of Foster's shell. Wanting to help his brother, Eli reached to remove it, so it wouldn't poke Foster and disturb his sleep. To his surprise (and Foster's too, as you might imagine) the feather did not flick away easily as he had expected. In fact, it did not flick at all, but instead drew a very loud "Ouch" from Foster. |
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Foster was startled, but still sleepy. As he slowly poked his head out of his shell to see what had happened, he saw Eli.
"F... F... Foster! Those F... F... Feathers!! "Is this a joke, or something?" He grabbed at the bent feather and pulled again.
"Stop that!" yelled Foster.
It was true. Over all this time that Foster had hidden his neck, those little quills had grown to be feathers. Real feathers. And they stuck out now, even when Foster pulled his head into his shell. His secret was out.
CHAPTER IV
Now everybody was talking about Foster.
'I thought being the center of attention was supposed to be fun,' thought Foster, 'but I feel more like an oddball than a celebrity.'
Sometimes he heard friendly talk. - "Wow, Foster, those feathers make you look fancy."
Sometimes he heard mean talk. - "Hey, feather-brain! Why don't you fly south with the geese?"
"I love your feathers, Foster."
Imogene was so sweet.
"They're soft, and they glisten in the sun, and they're very beautiful. You are totally unique and special. There's nobody else like you," she would say.
Foster loved Imogene very much.
CHAPTER V
The next morning was bright and, as the eagle watched from above, Foster was off to his favorite sunny spot. While he still didn't understand his feathers, he knew that he couldn't hide from the world forever. And he was getting used to the stares.
Down the path and across the meadow, Foster knew the way. But there was something new on the path today a very large mound of earth, right in the middle. He began, in his turtle way, to drag himself over the mound when, suddenly, without warning -- POP! FLIP!
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Foster found himself on his back, looking up at the sky.
"Goodness, goodness," said a voice that was both friendly and strange. "Someone there?" said the voice. "A turtle person I think." "A turtle person for sure," said Foster with a combination of surprise and irritation. "Why don't you watch where you're going?" |
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Foster blinked and blinked his eyes, until he could see that he was talking to a mole.
"Would you please help me over?" asked Foster.
"Glad to. Very glad to," said the mole, as he came quickly to Foster's aid.
Now right-side-up, Foster could again see things with their tops and bottoms in their proper places. He could see that this mole had no eyes, or if he did they were so small, and squinted so tightly shut, that they were no more than wrinkles in his forehead.
"My name's Mort. So sorry for the jolt," said the mole.
"You can't see, can you?" asked Foster meekly.
"Can't see - don't really know what 'see' means," Mort said, matter-of-factly. "Underground, where I live in the dark, there is no need of eyes, so mine don't work."
"Well," started Foster, curiously, "how did you know I was a turtle?"
"Eyes don't tell everything, you know," explained Mort. "You smell like a turtle, and by the way you feel you're either a turtle, or a talking army helmet," joked Mort. "My guess is, you're a turtle."
"Do others tease you because you can't see?", Foster asked.
"Heavens no, no," said Mort. "Other moles can't see either, and other others know I'm a mole, and that moles can't see."
"Well, I should be on my way," said Foster, still confused. "It was nice to meet you."
"You too, turtle... uh... I didn't get your name."
"Oh! Foster," said Foster, startled. "Are you sure I'm a turtle?" Foster had to ask.
"Strange question from a turtle, that's for sure," said Mort. "If you're not a turtle, I don't know what you might be."
"Me neither," said Foster. "Well, goodbye."
As Foster continued down the once well-known path, his brain was spinning. Mort was missing something - eyesight - but he had no use for it anyway - so was he really missing anything? Foster had something extra - feathers - but they were of no use to him, at least as far as he knew. Mort seemed so sure that Foster was a turtle, but he couldn't see the feathers that made Foster different from other turtles. Very confusing.
CHAPTER Vl
The rest of Foster's trip down the path was easy, and in a short time he arrived at his favorite sunny spot. It was a floating branch, near the large log where his friends and relatives gathered. It was kind of private, which Foster liked.
It was almost noon and Foster stretched out dreamily, enjoying the sun that soothed his thoughts and warmed his body. He gazed up and saw a flat shadow against the bright midday sky. He first thought it was the familiar eagle, but from its outline against the glare it looked more like a bat. Then instantly, as this bird-bat shadow landed on the high trunk of a tree, he could see that it was really a squirrel. How very strange, thought Foster. A squirrel that flies?
As the sun warmed his shell, Foster began to imagine possibilities. If a squirrel could fly like a bird, maybe he was part bird too. But weren't his feathers useless ? After all, he couldn't fly - well, he never even thought of trying.
All of this serious thinking made Foster very sleepy. He continued to float, and he began to dream.
CHAPTER VII
...and he floated... and the sun made his back glow... and the world around him began to grow and grow, untilFoster dreamed himself to be an ancient island, floating in a warm ocean. Tropical waves break gently on the shores of his gigantic shell. On his broad back many species of birds, animals, and insects flourish.
Foster begins to swim. He is huge, and with each stroke of his massive legs the Foster island travels 100 knots through the warm seas. Sailors who pass him as he goes are afraid, because he is so big. They name him Zaratan and spread scarey stories about him, because they are afraid. But they would not fear him at all if they knew that Foster was just a big island being told to swim by his dream voice, or just a small turtle having a strange dream.
And so Zaratan Foster swims on and on until he reaches land... and as he draws closer to shore the ocean floor rises up to meet him, and Foster's dream voice tells him to keep going.
CHAPTER VIII
One dream leads into another, and as Foster climbs upon the sandy beach he is no longer a huge turtle island, big enough to swallow sailing ships, but as the most majestic and magnificent of all mythical creatures, a Griffon.
The Foster Griffon shakes tropical water from his lion body, and he stretches his eagle wings. He is graceful and strong, and this makes him feel proud and bold - things that Foster never felt before.
With powerful strides he travels across the dreamscape, moving toward a glowing horizon that promises great adventures, but grows thinner and thinner as he approaches.
CHAPTER IX
Foster's eyes slowly open from sleep, He is looking out across the familiar water through the afternoon's glare. He is a very small turtle, next to a very small pond. Remembering his dream, Foster stretches his legs straight out from his sides, as if they are wings. He imagines, floating on the pond, that he is floating on a breeze. 'This must be what flying feels like,' Foster thought to himself, 'like gliding on the wind.' Then, suddenly...
WHOOSH!! In the blink of a turtle's eye Foster is in the air, rising with startling speed, higher and higher. He is moving so fast that it feels like his stomach is still sitting on the rocks down below, next to the pond. His legs are still sticking out stiffly to his sides, like imaginary wings, but this doesn't feel like imagination anymore. This is real, but it can't be, can it? Foster can't think fast enough.
"Am I still dreaming?" He knows he is not.
"Am I magic?" How else could he explain what was happening to him?
Foster tilts his head and leans his weight to one side. As soon as he does he starts to turn. Startled, he quickly straightens back up, and when he does, he is flying level again.
Starting to feel like he has some control over his flight, he starts to enjoy it even more. The only thing that is still leaving him a little scared is not knowing how this amazing thing is happening.
Foster points himself down and around, and begins to circle the pond he had left far below. By this time the word of his sudden takeoff has spread, and every turtle neck is stretched upward to watch Foster fly.
"How do you like flying?" Foster heard a deep voice from above him.
"Birds take flying for granted, you know" the eagle spoke again. "Especially big eagles like me. We just pick up and take off whenever we feel like it."
It didn't seem possible that Foster could be surprised again, on top of all of the amazing surprise already. He stretched his neck around to the side, as far as he could stretch it, and there were his answers. There were the powerful talons of the eagle curled gently, but firmly, around his small turtle shell. Foster was being taken for a ride.
"I've been watching you from the day you crawled out of the nest with all of your brothers and sisters. You reminded me of how I felt when I was very young. I couldn't even walk. What I had for feathers looked more like lint, glued in patches on my scrawny body. I never dreamed of being able to fly - I thought it was just something that my parents did."
The eagle, and Foster, soared higher now. Foster listened, but it was hard for him to pay close attention while seeing his entire world in miniature sliding slowly backwards below him.
"You see, Foster, this is my year on Watch."
The sky was cloudless, and Foster could see to the very edge of a turtle's universe. It was unbelievable.
"Eagles circle in the sky for many reasons," the eagle continued. "A young eagle serves on Watch before becoming an adult. Today I found out why."
Foster still heard the eagle, and he was trying very hard to listen, but Foster's thoughts were much louder inside his head than the eagle's voice.
"You helped me, Foster, without even knowing it. I could see that there was a part of you that should be flying, and all of a sudden, today, I knew what I was supposed to do."
Foster pointed himself straight down, and the eagle followed his lead. He headed straight toward the very large log where every turtle had gathered. As they got closer the eagle tilted his wings, then dug his broad tale into the dense summer air, and touched Foster down on the log for a pillow-soft landing.
All of the turtles were screaming with excitement, and climbing over each other to get closer to Foster.
Foster walked straight over to Imogene, who wasn't saying a word. She was smiling, just smiling. That was all that she could do.
Foster couldn't stop smiling either. Sometimes even eagles need to come down to earth, and sometimes even turtles are meant to fly.
"We'll do it again," said the eagle, and he was gone.
THE END
©1995, Blue Turtle Art