Once, in a valley where the river met the mountain, lived a **Duck** named Barnaby and an **Eagle** named Aquila.
Barnaby was a creature of comfort. He spent his days drifting on the calm surface of the lake, his world defined by the reeds and the predictable ripple of the water. To him, "safety" meant staying where the water was shallow and the breadcrumbs were plenty.
Aquila, however, lived in the jagged peaks above. Her world was defined by the gale-force winds and the vast, terrifying horizon. To her, "safety" was a myth; there was only the strength of one's wings and the clarity of one's vision.
One summer, a massive storm rolled in—the kind that turns the sky charcoal and the wind into a roar. The river began to swell, threatening to sweep Barnaby into the dangerous white-water rapids downstream. Panicked, Barnaby flapped his wings, but he was used to paddling, not persevering.
Aquila, watching from a high ledge, saw the little duck struggling. She dived. Not to hunt, but to lead. She swooped low, her massive wings beating against the rain.
"Fly higher!" Aquila screeched over the thunder.
"I can't!" Barnaby quacked, his feathers heavy with water. "The wind is too strong!"
"The wind is only an enemy if you fight it," Aquila called back. **"Lean into the pressure. Use the very thing that frightens you to lift you up."
Barnaby had no choice. He stopped trying to swim against the current and took to the air. Following Aquila's shadow, he stopped flapping frantically and began to tilt his wings. He felt the updraft—the same wind that was destroying the trees below—catch his wings and propel him upward.
For the first time in his life, Barnaby saw the valley from a mile up. The lake looked like a tiny blue pebble. He realized that the world wasn't just a series of small ponds; it was an endless expanse of possibility.
When the storm cleared, Barnaby returned to his lake, and Aquila returned to her crags. But Barnaby was different. He still enjoyed the water, but every now and then, when the wind picked up, he wouldn't hide in the reeds. He would spread his wings, catch the breeze, and remember that **the storm doesn't just bring rain—it brings the power to rise.