The Children's Gratitude

The last vestiges of panic had long since faded, replaced by a dizzying blend of exhilaration and sheer disbelief. Williyar, still hovering a few feet above the now-calm meadow, watched as the children tumbled out of the miraculously deflated hot air balloon, their faces alight with a joy that outshone the afternoon sun. They swarmed around him, a whirlwind of giggles and wide-eyed wonder, their small hands reaching out to touch the incredible, feathery appendages that had, just moments before, been the source of his own profound terror.

“You saved us!” a little girl with pigtails squealed, her voice a bell-like chime. “You were like a giant, feathery angel!”

Williyar’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson. “Oh, uh, no, not an angel,” he stammered, trying to keep his wings from flapping erratically in his embarrassment. “Just… Williyar. And I’m still learning.”