When the news swept through the forest,
the moon was hidden behind heavy clouds,
and not a single ray of light could slip through the darkness.
Yet in that very moment,
a small light ignited inside Mumu’s heart,
a glow made of excitement and expectation.
From that day on,
Mumu would run to the little hill
at the edge of the forest
and stare blankly at the endless sky above.
Mumu's gaze was unwavering,
as if by looking long enough,
long enough and deep enough,
they might catch a glimpse
of those legendary travelers
slipping through the seams of the clouds.
And so Mumu waited,
through seasons that came and went
without leaving a mark on his patience.
Until one clear morning,
the mist lifted like a soft curtain,
and the far-off sky flashed with a sudden silver gleam.
A flock of enormous winged silhouettes
emerged from the deepest edge of the horizon,
gliding through layers of cloud,
riding the wind with effortless grace.
Their feathers shimmered under the morning sun,
and each powerful wingbeat
sent out a sharp, ringing whoosh
that sliced through the quiet air.
The entire island froze.
Squirrels stiffened on their branches,
the young deer lifted their heads toward the sky,
and even the creek ceased its flowing,
as if the world itself had paused to breathe.
The albatrosses—
children of the wind.
The greatest adventurers of all.
They had finally arrived.
