Pick a Word, Paint a Story #13

Hello everyone, on this occasion I would like to participate in a contest held by @senehasa about "Choose a Word, Paint a Story #13"
following my previous entry I would like to invite my friends @neyistar23, @sur-riti, @xkool24, to participate in this contest

The morning sky was golden orange, indicating the sun slowly emerging from its bed. A cool breeze blew softly on the hill, shaking the fallen dry leaves. On a large rock facing a ravine, a boy named Arka sat pensively, staring at the vast horizon.

Arka, always been interested in the sky from childhood. He longed to have wings and fly as a bird that couldn't. Whenever he witnessed eagles flying in horizontal circles overhead, his heart would begin to flutter with longing. But as it always happens with the real. Arka had soft legs since he was born. He Never ran, and certainly never jumped. Walking was all his wooden stick could do since his childhood.

“ Now, if I flies I would not require stout legs ( he whined )!

There was an old village near where he lived and there in that village one day an old legend was told that young guy fly with the help of crafted wings. There was a story that he built his own wings and flew over mountains.

Artificial wings were tied to his back and he limped towards high.

His stomach was beating fiercely with the tidal waves of anticipation. Finally this was it.

But as he reached to go, someones voice put a stop.

(“Arka!”Hissya little girl from bellow.) It was Nayla, his best friend since the days we were kids. “What are you doing?” Arka always listened to the story with great hope. He wanted to make it happen, wanted to prove that he too could float in the sky even though his legs could not run.

Day by day, he began to collect bird feathers that fell in the forest. He also collected light wood and rattan rope. Every night, under the light of an oil lamp, he designed and assembled his dream wings. His hands were often injured by sharp wood, and his body felt tired, but he never gave up.

"One day, I will fly," he whispered.

After weeks of work, the wings were finally finished. Nayla with a smile so confident and awesome Nayla answered — I will fly, remember Nayla!

Nayla was out of breath when she got on top of it. “This is nuts! You could fall and get hurt!”

“But I want to try,” Arka said. “I’ve worked hard to make these wings.”

Nayla bit her lip. She knew how big Arka’s dream was.

She didn't wanna squish it but, at the same time, she was scared something would go wrong

“I know you can do nothing short of amazing Arka,” she told her in a hushed voice. What if there was a way to fly other than having feathers?

Arka watched her, confused. “Another way?”

Apologies, smile tall and grasped his hand Nayla “Be with me.

One by one they stepped down the hill beneath Nayla’s home. Auntie Nayla: at work in progress—Nayla’s father, the craftsman on something.

“Know?” Nayla asked. “Dad is going to make a balloon for the village festival. Perhaps just this might enable you to feel it.

Arka was glowing She gazed in wonder at the balloon.

“Oh… really?” Nayla said. “A hot air balloon for the village festival Dad is building

There—Nayla’s dad was at work on a big project when she needed me, a craftsperson. It was a little bit of cloth and bamboo hot air balloon, he had actually made it.

“You know?” asked Nayla “Dad gonna make a hot air balloon for festival in village. You want to fly? Sure, but for the experience.

Arka smiled with eyes lit up. Not a bird, but he could at least fly.

On that day, he learned one thing; flying is all about being able to take off. Flying is dream, bravery and doing nothing right, but in the right way.