“A glider isn’t made, but built. It already exists, in your minds, in your imagination. The glider exists in its spiritual form. What we will be doing over the next six months is simply giving a physical form to it. Listening to it. Building both your partner and your home. Respect your glider, and it will serve you well.”

  Excerpt from Delfor’s Guide to Gliding, Chapter Four

  Glider stared in abject horror. I’ve learned that there are many emotional responses to bad news. Anger. Sadness. Horror. Bemusement. Uncontrolled laughter. This one was horror, complete with open-mouthed disbelief, cold chills and a heavy chest.

  Glider had spent two years painstakingly creating his glider. He had twisted hemp, sanded wood, oiled leather, and completed the hundreds of other miscellaneous tasks required to create even the most basic of gliders. Granted, he’d only graduated two years ago, but it had already grown with him - white cloud patterns decorated the tarp, the paint a gift from a priority delivery who had been particularly pleased to have a new cake delivered in time for a ceremony.

  This though… this…

  “What happened to it?!” Glider burst out.

  Sel and Hayte glanced sheepishly at each other, and Sel stepped forward apologetically. “Well, it was all uh, all broken when you crashed here. We found it next to you all in bits and pieces, you see. So I tried to fix it!”

  Gliders have three components, an upper triangular frame creating the traditional arrowrhead shape, a tarp stretched over it for lift, and a lower set of stirrups and bars for stepping into, leaning on, or resting on while gliding.

  This glider however looked like it was created by an eldritch monstrosity who’d been read a mistranslated version of The Little Glider Who Could by aliens living on a planet without gravity. The triangular frame was lopsided, and the stirrups were missing a foothold. Rolls of unfinished rope trailed down the ground, and the wood had been enthusiastically but informally patched with large daubs of…

  “Is that rice glue?”

  “Yep! It’s actually one of our specialities, made it myself! Well, whaddaya think?” asked Sel brightly “I mean, it got really smashed up, but I thought you’d want it slightly more fixed up than it being just in bits so…”

  Glider stared, running his hand through his dark hair sifting from the front of his hair, running his hand through his locks, his scalp, and back to the end of his head. And then he did so again. and again. He couldn’t even think. His glider…

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Well… uh… it’s…” Gliders voice trailed off as he searched for words. How to express what he couldn’t even express to himself? The loss of freedom, autonomy, and purpose? His forever home, his partner, his sense of security? The loss of his destiny? The loss of his very own heart?

  Never let it be said that Glider lacked a dramatic streak.

  “I uh… I…”

  Hayte gently steered Sel out the door, whispering something in her ear, and walked back to Glider. “What’s wrong? If it’s the damage, I’m pretty sure it’s fixable, we’ve got the materials and the time to fix something up you can glide in again, but I’m pretty sure you could just buy another glider, or get this one fixed by the guild, no?”

  Now, here’s what you should know about Glider. Most other gliders customised their gliders too, a coat of paint there, but by and large, they bought their gliders pre-made. Just as a farmer wields a rake, but gives no thought to its construction beyond its usage, most gliders treated the vessels by which they traversed the skies with a practical, if unromantic, care.

  Glider was not one of these.

  “It’s just… I always wanted to be one of the original Gliders, you know? The ones from the stories. Explorers. Adventurers. Boldly exploring uncharted islands. I did everything they did! I built this glider myself. It took years. It doesn’t even fly as well as some of the pre made ones, but it was… mine.” Glider confessed, almost embarrassed. Why was he confessing to a total stranger?

  Hayte’s face softened. “I see. You really loved this glider, didn’t you?” his voice gentle, and unjudging.

  Glider turned his head over his shoulder to glance at the remains of his glider, unable to say a word

  “I’ve met other gliders who use their gliders as a tool, like how I might use a watering can. But for you, it sounds like you had a pretty special and intimate relationship with this glider and that losing it was almost comparable to losing a loved one.”

  Glider froze, feeling the hollow ache in his chest again as he looked at his glider. “That’s a nice way of putting it. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to offend you and Sel’s hospitality but… ”

  Hayte placed his hand on Glider’s shoulder, radiating dad vibes in a calm voice. “Hush. It’s perfectly right to grieve. Take as much time as you need. We’ll give you some time.” he walked back into the room with the glider, and Glider dimly heard his voice calling for Sel, then a door opening and shutting at the far end of the room.

  Glider slowly walked towards the - the remains of his glider. He knelt down to touch the foothold frame, grasping the solid wooden piece, still smelling faintly of lacquer and stormwater. One foothold was missing, exposing a jagged break in the wood. It looked like it had snapped off in the crash. Glider swallowed, suddenly feeling lucky. He could so easily have lost his foot. In fact, he was curiously healthy given the condition of his glider, and the presumed storm and crash he had been through.

  Shaking his head physically to mentally shake off his thoughts, he leaned backwards and sat back on the ground, planting his hands behind him as he stared at the glider. The tarp was practically gone - previously anchored and tied in three different locations, two of those anchors had torn off, and only a third of the original fabric remained, loosely tied to one remaining anchor. A burlap fabric had been clumsily but earnestly sewn to replace the lost fabric, and hung off of the triangular frame.

  It was ridiculous. It didn’t make any sense. It wouldn’t work. Burlap was too heavy and wouldn’t catch any wind whatsoever. But still…

  Despite himself, Glider smiled briefly at the small handwritten note attached to the top of the tarp. “Check what kind of fabric is best for tarps!!! Fix it up good!”. Easy enough to guess who wrote that message.

  Glider’s hand caressed the strong treated fabric of the tarp, breathing in deeply. He thought of the hours spent collecting materials, trading favours for help from an experienced weaver to weave the tarp, painting the tarp with the traditional symbols for exploration and luck, begging and bargaining with the witch at the Guild to help enchant his glider for speed and lightness. He looked down at the broken remains of his glider, and his shoulders started to shake silently. A mixture of grief, gratitude, anger, and frustration boiled up inside him, and he started to weep. He hadn’t just lost his glider, his freedom, and his livelihood. He’d also lost his dream.