The Boy With Wings by Sir Lenny Henry

Author:Sir Lenny Henry
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pan Macmillan UK

As Tunde and Juba approached St Pritchett’s Park, they soon found themselves under the canopy of a verdant forested area.

‘Here we are,’ said Juba, looking around. ‘Tap your chest three times.’

‘Why?’ said Tunde suspiciously. He still wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t a hallucination.

‘Just do it,’ said Juba patiently. ‘It’s time you learned.’

Tunde rather hesitantly tapped his chest and his wings reappeared. FWOOOOOOSH!

He craned his neck to see them. They were magnificent. Wild and powerful. It was as though an argumentative eagle had landed on his back and just wouldn’t let go.

‘Are you ready?’ said Juba.

‘Ready for what?’

‘To fly, of course.’

Tunde glanced up. There was a great deal of greenery overhead – an abundance of trees, bushes and branches, resembling an enormous green duvet.

‘Keep low,’ said Juba. ‘Low and watchful. Just follow me.’

Juba took off smoothly. Following some sort of instinct, Tunde flapped his wings, and soared.

‘Not too high,’ called Juba. ‘Keep beneath the trees. Humans are not ready to see this and I don’t have the energy to wipe any more minds.’

‘All right,’ said Tunde, and just like that, he found himself lowering slightly. It felt completely natural. As natural to him as running or kicking a ball or leaping into the air to do a massive, match-winning header.

They set off. Tunde smiled in awe. This was ah-maz-ing!

‘Wooooohooooooo!’ he yelled. ‘I’m flying.’

Juba rocketed ahead, confidently following the directions on his translation device, which now operated as an ULTRA-HIGH-TECH Furleenian GPS system, displaying his whereabouts with pinpoint accuracy. Soon they had escaped the bounds of St Pritchett’s Park and had entered the Great Forest.

Tunde and his friends were fortunate to live near here as it was ‘An Area of Natural Beauty’ – at least that’s what the local council said. It was thick with trees, bushes and various types of wild flora; very much a British forest, but in summer, if you closed your eyes and poured a bucket of warm water over your head, it felt like you were in the Amazon jungle. There was so much greenery overhead, so many trees: English oaks, beech, willow, pine, ash. It was like being in Sir David Attenborough’s allotment.

There were wild horses roaming the area, free of rider and saddle, jostling for position. They looked up and saw Tunde and Juba flying side by side, swooping and soaring, and they neighed and whinnied loudly, echoing their movement.

Tunde looked down and smiled, almost flying into a tree in the process.

Juba snapped, ‘Pay attention!’

Tunde joyfully followed the large flying cat’s instructions (like this was an everyday thing), navigating the forest with ease.

‘I can’t believe this,’ he called to Juba. ‘I thought it would take me ages to learn.’

Juba gave him a thoughtful look. ‘It does, for most,’ he said. ‘But clearly, you are special.’

And as he led the boy through bower and bloom, over branches and winding streams, past green and pleasant scenery, a cheeky magpie joined them, squawking encouragement. Tunde was sure he understood what the bird was saying – it sort of

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