The peak of a sparrow Olivia Mendez The peak Of a sparrOw But Serin’s eyes were always drawn elsewhere. Olivia Mendez An Ovi eBooks Publication 2024 Ovi eBookpublications - all material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks publications & the writer C Ovi ebooks are available in Ovi/Ovi eBookshelves pages and they are for free. if somebody tries to sell you an Ovi book please contact us immediately. for details, contact: ovimagazine@yahoo.com no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of the writer or the above publisher of this book The peak of a sparrow The peak of a sparrow Olivia Mendez Olivia Mendez An Ovi eBooks Publication 2024 Ovi eBookpublications - all material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks publications & the writer C The peak of a sparrow B eneath the sheltering embrace of a forest that seemed endless, with trees as old as time and leaves that whispered stories in the wind, a small sparrow sat on a slender branch. Her name was Serin, and unlike the other birds of the forest, she was always gazing upward, toward the distant peaks that rose far beyond the treetops, beyond even the clouds. The other sparrows fluttered about their business, flitting from branch to branch, chattering cheerfully about food, family, and the daily rhythms of life. But Serin’s eyes were always drawn elsewhere. It wasn’t as though Serin didn’t enjoy her life. The forest, with its emerald leaves and gentle breezes, was a lovely place to live. Every morning, the light of dawn filtered through the thick canopy, dappling Olivia Mendez the forest floor with spots of gold. The air was filled with the sweet scent of pine and moss, and the songs of birds echoed in harmony with the rustling of the trees. The sparrows of her flock thrived here, safe from predators, with plenty of food and companion- ship. But Serin always felt a restlessness deep within her chest, an invisible pull toward something greater, something beyond. From her perch, she stared intently at the towering mountain, its jagged peak barely visible through the haze of distance. The mountain was unlike anything else in her world, rising impossibly high, as if the earth itself had reached out in an attempt to touch the sky. There was an allure about it, a mystery that wrapped itself around Serin’s mind and wouldn’t let go. The other sparrows never looked at it the way she did. They saw it as an immovable fixture, a thing to be admired from afar, but never approached. But for Serin, the mountain was a challenge. From the time she was just a hatchling, Serin had heard stories—stories whispered by the elders during the quiet twilight hours when the air was still and the world felt suspended in time. They spoke of the mountain as a place of both wonder and danger, a place where the winds grew wild and the air turned The peak of a sparrow thin. There were tales of brave birds who had once tried to reach the summit, only to disappear, lost for- ever in the unforgiving heights. And yet, despite the warnings, Serin’s heart would beat faster with each telling. Instead of fear, she felt a burning curiosity. “What lies at the top?” Serin would often ask the elders. “What’s beyond the clouds?” The older sparrows would cluck their tongues and shake their heads, their feathers ruffling in disap- proval. Elder Verin, an ancient sparrow whose feath- ers had long since faded to a soft grey, always had the same response. “It’s not for us, Serin,” she would say in her raspy voice, her eyes narrowing as though to emphasize the gravity of her words. “The mountain is not for spar- rows. We were made for the forest. We belong here, among the branches and leaves, where it’s safe. The summit is for other birds, the larger, stronger ones. Eagles, perhaps, or hawks. But sparrows? No. We’re too small, too fragile for such a journey.” Serin would nod politely, as was expected, but her heart would silently rebel. Why should size or strength matter? She had wings, didn’t she? Couldn’t she fly just as the eagles did? Perhaps not as fast or Olivia Mendez as high, but surely her spirit could carry her farther than mere size could. She wanted to believe there was more to life than just what she could see, more than the confines of the forest and the routine of everyday survival. Even as she grew older, the elders continued to discourage her ambitions. They believed Serin’s ob- session with the mountain was just a youthful folly, something she would eventually outgrow. But Serin knew better. The mountain called to her, and every day the call grew stronger. She longed to spread her wings and rise above the world, to see what lay be- yond the horizon, to experience the feeling of being above the clouds where no sparrow had ever ven- tured. One afternoon, after a particularly long flight around the edges of the forest, Serin returned to the central gathering place of the flock, where several elders were discussing the upcoming migration sea- son. As she perched on a nearby branch, listening to the talk of preparation and routes, she found her gaze drifting once again to the mountain. It loomed in the distance, shrouded in a thin veil of mist, its peak barely visible in the dimming light. “You’ve got that look in your eyes again,” a voice said from beside her. The peak of a sparrow Startled, Serin turned to see her older brother, Tarin, perched on the branch next to her. His brown feathers gleamed in the fading sunlight, and his ex- pression was a mix of amusement and concern. Tarin had always been protective of her, ever since they were hatchlings. He was a cautious bird, much more in line with the flock’s way of thinking, and Se- rin knew that while he cared for her deeply, he never truly understood her fascination with the mountain. “I’m just thinking,” Serin replied, trying to sound casual. “Thinking about what?” Tarin asked, though she knew he already had a pretty good idea. Serin hesitated. She had mentioned her dream to Tarin before, and each time, his response had been the same—a mixture of gentle disapproval and thinly veiled worry. She knew what he would say, but she couldn’t help herself. “I want to see what’s up there,” she said, nodding toward the mountain. Tarin sighed, shaking his head slowly. “Serin, we’ve talked about this. The mountain isn’t a place for spar- rows. You’ve heard the stories, you know how dan- Olivia Mendez gerous it is. No one who goes up there ever comes back.” “But what if they just didn’t try hard enough?” Se- rin countered, her voice rising slightly with excite- ment. “What if it’s not about size or strength, but about persistence? What if we’re all just too afraid to try?” Tarin looked at her for a long moment, his dark eyes searching hers. Finally, he spoke, his voice soft but firm. “Serin, I love your spirit, I do. But you’re chasing something that’s not meant for us. The mountain... it’s a dream, a dangerous one. There are reasons we stay here, reasons we don’t go beyond the forest. You need to accept that.” Serin felt a flicker of frustration rise within her. Why was everyone so quick to tell her what she couldn’t do? Why did they all assume that the limits they placed on themselves applied to her as well? She opened her beak to argue, but Tarin cut her off. “I know you’re not happy with that answer,” he said, his tone softening. “But we have to think about sur- vival, about the flock. You have responsibilities here, Serin. Chasing something that could get you hurt or worse... it’s not worth it.” The peak of a sparrow Serin remained silent, her thoughts churning. Tarin meant well, she knew that, but his words only strengthened her resolve. She would never be con- tent living a life constrained by fear, by the belief that some things were simply “not meant” for sparrows. She didn’t want to live her days hopping from branch to branch, never knowing what lay beyond the trees. She wanted to fly higher. That night, Serin lay in her nest, staring up at the small patch of sky visible through the dense leaves overhead. The stars glittered faintly, distant and cold, and the moon cast a pale glow across the treetops. Her mind was restless, filled with images of the mountain and the mysteries it held. She imagined what it would feel like to stand at its peak, to look down at the world below and feel the wind beneath her wings, lifting her higher and higher until she was one with the sky. The forest was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves or the soft chirp of a cricket. But in Serin’s mind, there was a storm brewing—a whirlwind of thoughts and dreams, of possibilities and fears. She knew that if she stayed here, if she followed the path laid out for her by the flock, she would always won- der what might have been. She would live a life of safety, but also one of regret. Olivia Mendez Her decision was made. The next morning, Serin rose early, before the sun had fully crested the horizon. The forest was still cloaked in the soft shadows of dawn, and the air was cool and crisp. She flew to the edge of the forest, where the trees began to thin and the land sloped upward toward the mountain. The sky was a pale, washed- out blue, and the first light of the day touched the highest peaks with a golden hue. Serin’s heart raced as she looked up at the towering mountain before her. It seemed even more immense up close, its jagged cliffs and steep slopes rising im- possibly high into the sky. For a moment, she felt a flicker of doubt. Could she really do this? Could she, a small sparrow, conquer something so vast and un- tamed? But then she remembered the way the other spar- rows had looked at her, the way they had dismissed her dreams as nothing more than foolish fantasies. She thought of Tarin’s concerned gaze and the elders’ patronizing smiles. No. She wouldn’t turn back now. She had come too far to let doubt stop her. With a deep breath, Serin spread her wings and took flight, leaving the safety of the forest behind. The peak of a sparrow The early stages of her ascent were exhilarating. The air was cool and fresh, the wind gentle beneath her wings. She soared upward, her heart pounding with excitement, her mind filled with the possibili- ties that lay ahead. Below her, the forest stretched out in every direction, a sea of green that seemed end- less. But Serin didn’t look back. Her eyes were fixed on the mountain, on the summit that lay somewhere beyond the clouds. As she flew higher, the air grew thinner, the wind more unpredictable. It tugged at her feathers, push- ing her off course, but Serin fought against it, de- termined to press on. Her wings ached with the ef- fort, but she refused to stop. The mountain loomed closer now, its jagged cliffs and rocky crags casting long shadows across the landscape. The higher she climbed, the more the world below seemed to shrink, until the forest was nothing more than a distant blur of green. For hours, Serin flew, her determination unwaver- ing. But as the day wore on, the journey became more difficult. The air grew colder, and the wind howled like a living thing, battering her from all sides. Her wings felt heavy, her muscles burning with exhaus- tion. Still, she pushed forward, her gaze fixed on the summit. Olivia Mendez But as the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the mountainside, Serin realized with a sink- ing feeling that she was not as close to the summit as she had thought. The peak still rose far above her, shrouded in mist and clouds, and the distance she had covered seemed insignificant in comparison to the vastness that remained. Doubt crept into her mind, gnawing at her resolve. Had she made a mistake? Was the mountain truly too much for a sparrow to conquer? She had come so far, but the summit still seemed impossibly distant. The wind was stronger now, and the air was so thin that each breath felt like a struggle. Her wings ached, her body trembling with exhaustion. For the first time, Serin hesitated. The peak of a sparrow II. The mountain loomed higher now, its shadow stretching across the land as Serin climbed steadily toward its mist-shrouded summit. The world below her had receded into a distant memory, the forest where she had spent her entire life now a speck on the horizon. The air was cooler here, crisp and biting, and the wind had gained a sharper edge, tugging in- sistently at her feathers as if trying to pull her back to the safety of the trees. But Serin had come too far to be deterred by the mountain’s early warnings. Each flap of her wings took her farther from the life she knew and closer to the unknown heights she longed to reach. As she flew, the landscape changed. The lush green- ery that had cradled her for so long began to thin, replaced by barren slopes of jagged rock and sparse patches of scraggly shrubs clinging to the moun- tainside. The once-familiar scent of pine and moss was replaced by the sharp, cold tang of the high-al- Olivia Mendez titude air. Everything seemed harsher here, more forbidding, as if the mountain itself were testing her resolve. But Serin’s heart remained light, buoyed by the excitement of the journey and the thought of the summit waiting somewhere above the clouds. She had been flying for hours, perhaps even days— time seemed to blur at these heights. Her wings ached, the tips of her feathers raw from battling the wind. She longed for rest but dared not stop for too long, fearing that if she paused, the doubt that had begun to creep into her mind might take hold. What if the elders had been right? What if spar- rows truly weren’t meant for the heights? The thought gnawed at her, a whisper of uncertainty that grew louder with every gust of wind that threw her off course. She shook it off, determined to prove herself wrong. She had come too far to give in now. It was during one such moment, as Serin flew along a narrow ridge that jutted out from the mountain- side, that she spotted a figure perched on a craggy outcrop ahead. The bird was larger than any sparrow, with sleek, dark feathers that shimmered like oil in the fading sunlight. He was preening himself lazi- ly, his sharp beak combing through his glossy black wings with an air of indifference. The peak of a sparrow Serin slowed her flight, approaching cautiously. She recognized the bird immediately: a crow. She had seen them before in the forest, though they rare- ly mingled with sparrows. Crows were known to be clever, often mischievous, and their reputation for cunning preceded them. This one, however, seemed oddly still, as though waiting for something—or someone. As she neared, the crow lifted his head, his beady eyes locking onto her with a glint of amusement. “Well, well,” he croaked, his voice rough and scratchy, like the scrape of talons on stone. “What do we have here? A little sparrow, far from home, by the looks of it.” Serin landed on a rock a few feet away, her wings trembling from the effort of the climb. She folded them tightly against her body, trying to catch her breath. “I’m heading to the summit,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. The crow let out a harsh caw of laughter, the sound echoing off the mountainside. “The summit? You? A sparrow?” He shook his head, still chuckling as if she Olivia Mendez had just told the most absurd joke. “What business does a tiny creature like you have up there?” Serin bristled at his dismissive tone, but she kept her composure. “I want to see what’s beyond,” she said simply, meeting his gaze with determination. “I want to know what lies at the top of the world.” The crow tilted his head, regarding her with a mix- ture of curiosity and disbelief. His dark eyes gleamed in the fading light, and for a moment, Serin thought she saw something there—something deeper, hidden beneath his mocking exterior. “And what do you think you’ll find?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost contemplative. “What do you imagine is waiting for you up there?” Serin hesitated. It was a question she had asked herself many times but never fully answered. What was she expecting? Glory? Wisdom? Freedom? The truth was, she didn’t know. All she knew was that the summit called to her in a way she couldn’t ignore, a pull that came from deep within her heart. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice quieter. “But I have to see for myself.” The crow was silent for a long moment, his eyes The peak of a sparrow never leaving hers. Then he sighed, a low, rasping sound that seemed to carry the weight of something long-buried. “I used to think like you,” he said, his voice tinged with a hint of melancholy. “Once, a long time ago.” Serin blinked, taken aback by the shift in his tone. The crow’s mocking demeanor had faded, replaced by something much more complex—something that spoke of regret. “You tried to reach the summit?” she asked, her curiosity piqued. The crow nodded slowly, his gaze drifting toward the distant peaks, now shrouded in mist and shadow. “I did. I flew higher than any crow before me, high- er than anyone in my flock dared to go. I thought I could conquer the mountain, that I could prove my- self better, smarter than all the others.” He paused, his beak clicking softly as if the memo- ry still lingered on his tongue. “But the higher I flew, the harder it became. The air grew thinner, the winds fiercer. I began to realize that the summit wasn’t what I had imagined it to be. It wasn’t a place of glory or wisdom. It was... emptiness. A cold, barren waste- land where nothing lives, nothing grows.” Olivia Mendez Serin felt a chill run through her feathers. “What did you do?” she asked, though she already knew the answer. The crow’s eyes darkened, his voice lowering to a bitter rasp. “I turned back. I returned to the safety of the lower slopes, where the winds weren’t so strong, where there was food and warmth.” He gave a bit- ter laugh, a hollow sound that echoed through the rocky landscape. “I convinced myself it was the right choice, that I had seen enough. But the truth is... I was afraid.” Serin’s heart clenched at the crow’s words. Afraid. The word hung in the air like a shadow, one that had followed her since the moment she had left the for- est. Was she afraid, too? Was that the voice whisper- ing in the back of her mind, telling her to turn back before it was too late? “I don’t want to be afraid,” Serin whispered, more to herself than to the crow. The crow turned his gaze back to her, his eyes sharp and piercing. “Everyone is afraid, little sparrow,” he said softly. “Even the strongest of us. The mountain... it’s not just a test of strength or endurance. It’s a test of will. It shows you who you really are, what you’re