An hour later, the two of them landed halfway up a mountain slope.
Flying straight into a Thunderbird's nest from the air would be seen as invading its airspace, so they would have to walk the rest of the way.
This time, Newt didn't complain about being old—his pace was even quicker than Tom's. While Tom's physical fitness was excellent, there was one undeniable disadvantage: short legs. At just over one-sixty in height, he had to take three steps for every two of Newt's, working hard to keep up with the old man's nimble stride.
After a short climb, they were nearing the summit when dark clouds suddenly rolled over the peak, blotting out the sun.
"SKREEEEE!"
Another sharp cry tore through the air. A Thunderbird—larger than any ordinary one—came diving toward them.
One look at the smile on Newt's face told Tom exactly who it was.
Sure enough, the Thunderbird landed gracefully before Newt, then dipped its proud head, making it easier for the old man to stroke its feathers.
Man and beast exchanged a few moments of quiet communication before Newt beckoned Tom forward. "You can't touch him yet," he murmured, "but getting closer is fine."
Soon after, Frank—for that was indeed the great bird—spread his vast wings and flew away. Newt and Tom resumed their climb.
"Don't rush," Newt said. "Your task for the next few days is to win the Thunderbirds' trust. Only then will you have a chance to approach the chicks."
Tom understood. He had time to spare—there was no need to push things too fast.
…
The summit was home to five Thunderbirds: Frank, his two mates, and two chicks. Tom's goal was exactly what Newt had mentioned earlier—two one-year-old younglings born last year.
Frank was the undisputed king of all the Thunderbirds in the Sanctuary. If Tom could win him over, the rest would be easy.
So they set up camp right there at the top. Each had their own tent, though "tent" hardly did justice to the space inside—three bedrooms, two sitting rooms, a kitchen, a washroom, even a fish tank, all comfortably arranged.
Following Newt's guidance, Tom only prepared food Thunderbirds enjoyed, delivering it twice a day—morning and evening—and sometimes accompanying them when they went soaring for exercise.
It was during these outings that Newt discovered something surprising: when Tom spoke of racing Thunderbirds in flight, he didn't mean on a broom. He used a modified version of the Andros Flight Charm.
Tom even taught this improved spell to Newt, saving the old man considerable trouble.
As for Grindelwald's own flight magic—well, Tom wasn't about to hand that over. If he gave away a spell that Grindelwald had painstakingly created, the man might just spit blood from sheer fury.
Days passed, and Tom slowly integrated himself into Thunderbird society. On the seventh day, while Newt went down to the town to restock supplies, Tom finally saw his targets—the two one-year-old chicks.
Unlike smaller birds, which can often fly within days or weeks of hatching, large raptors like Thunderbirds—or Golden Eagles—needed at least three months before they could take to the skies.
These two younglings weren't very big yet. Their wingspans had just passed a meter, and their parents rarely let them out of the nest. But watching them flap their small wings eagerly inside the nest, Tom felt a surge of confidence.
…
For the next few days, Tom became the very image of a doting caretaker, fussing over the chicks with meticulous attention.
If Max and Leo saw him now, they'd definitely curse him out. A few months ago, he'd been their "sweetheart." Now? A two-timing scoundrel.
In addition to building rapport, Tom had another mission—learning to communicate with the Thunderbirds so they could understand him.
Dumbledore might have mastered over a hundred non-human languages, but Newt was no less impressive. Many magical creatures' calls translated instantly into words in his mind, and Thunderbird speech was among them.
Under Newt's instruction, Tom progressed quickly. Thunderbird language didn't have complicated vocabulary—the real challenge was telling apart subtle variations in tone so as not to misunderstand.
Finally, when Tom judged the time right, he began his grand persuasion campaign—aimed squarely at the chicks' parents.
Standing inside the nest, he launched into an impassioned speech:
"If you've never faced the storm, how can you see the rainbow? A Thunderbird that's never fought the forces of nature is no true Thunderbird! You can protect your children now—but can you protect them for a lifetime?"
"Education must start young! Keeping them in the nest all day will only spoil them. You'll raise weaklings!"
The two adult Thunderbirds blinked in confusion.
But… we were raised this way. What's wrong with that?
Tom pressed on, voice smooth and persuasive. "In the East, they say 'The early bird catches the worm.' If your chicks grow stronger sooner than the rest, won't they have the advantage? Who's to say the next Thunderbird King won't be one of them?"
"Well? Tempted yet?"
"SKREEEE!"
The idea of their offspring surpassing even the current king stirred something deep in the birds' instincts. Every living creature, after all, carries the buried urge for their bloodline to rise higher.
"How about this—let them race me. If they can't even outfly a human, do they deserve to be the future rulers of the Thunderbirds?"
The parents bristled instantly. No way their children could lose to a mere human!
With one sweep of their wings, they shooed the younglings from the nest and carried them to a cliffside.
Tom crouched down, explaining to the chicks what to do.
Then, as both sides lined up, a sharp cry rang through the air. Tom's back sprouted gleaming white wings, his body glowing faintly—
—and in the next instant, he shot forward like an arrow loosed from a bow.
It was only after he'd flown a considerable distance that the two chicks finally flapped into the air.
A quick glance back showed the gap widening. Tom grinned.
The so-called Fourth Trial? Piece of cake.