Flyaway by Lucy Christopher Page A

feathers and a long, straight neck. I take my phone out of my pocket and take a photo. She doesn't bob her head away. She doesn't look scared of me at all.
    I crouch down and keep watching. Near my feet are some of her chest feathers, a babyish dark grey colour. They are soft and damp, a little like fur. I take the two longest ones and run my forefinger and thumb over them, making them smoothand perfect. I put them in my pocket with my phone. I'll take them for Dad.
    When I look up again, she's there. I mean right there, infront-of-my-face there. Less than a metre away. I don't know how she's swum up to me so quickly, or how I didn't notice. Her eyes are still locked on my face. Birds aren't supposed to have expressions, but this swan seems to. She seems really curious; it's almost human the way she's looking at me. It's like she's asked me a question and now she's waiting for my response. I glance away and then back at her, just to check I'm not imagining it. But she's still looking at me like that.
    I start shuffling backwards up the bank. I move slowly and steadily so she doesn't get alarmed. Even though I'm not scared of swans, I know they're pretty powerful. I mean, everyone's heard stories about swans breaking people's arms with their wings. Granddad told me once that a swan is capable of drowning a dog.
    â€˜Why are you so brave?’ I murmur to her.
    She tilts her head as if she's listening. She comes closer. Her feet squelch in the mud as she steps onto the bank. I could reach out and touch her. She stretches her wings out and for a moment she's absolutely massive, towering above me. Her wings block the light. I scrabble to stand. She beats her wings, and a stench of stale water hits my nostrils. Already her beak is stretching towards me and her wings are against my shins.
    â€˜Shoo!’ I say. ‘‘I don't have any food.‘
    I turn quickly and jog away from her. I'm not frightenedexactly, but there's something odd about this bird. Wild swans should be timid, scared of humans. This one's different.
    I think I'll stop after a few strides, but I don't. I increase my pace. She won't follow me across land, I know, but it feels good to run. It reminds me of playing football with Jack, and of all the training runs we did in the athletics team last summer. I glance back to see the swan returning to the water. She's fine now, no longer angry or whatever it was that made her come up to me like that. I watch her swim away. Maybe she's lonely.
    I run instead of thinking too hard. I want it to be like Jack's football game, when I ran and forgot all the bad stuff. My breathing starts to get heavier, and I feel my shoulders drop as I ease into the pace. Then I hear short, sharp smacks on the water, and I turn my head.
    It's the swan. She's beating her wings, running on the surface of the lake. At first I think she's following me. Then I realise. She's trying to take off. Trying to get the speed she needs from running across the water. I keep moving. I think she's going to lift off at any moment and I wait for her to soar low over my head. But she doesn't. She keeps running across the surface. I see the muscles straining in her neck. As she starts to catch up with me, I feel the sweep of wind coming from her feathers. It's almost as though she's racing me.
    Then I see her eyes. She's still watching me. I stumble, look across at the trees. There's no one else here. Only me. I stare back at her. I even start to run a little towards her. For a moment, it's as if she's drawing me there. I'm gasping forbreath, sucking the cold wind down into my lungs. Her feet smack harder on the surface of the lake and she inches ahead. It's almost as if she's urging me to go faster as well. It's ridiculous. Swans don't race each other like this, and they definitely don't race humans.
    I hear the breath rasping in my throat, the strain in my ribs. I slow down, I have to. The swan watches me, falters for a moment. I wave my arms at her,