//------------------------------//
// Chapter 1: High Hopes 
// Story: Flying Low 
// by Word Wizard 
//------------------------------//

	"Thunder!" Storm Valor called his son, "Thunder, you just can't spend ALL day in your room!"
It's a bright and sunny day in Clousdale, the city in the sky.  Pegasi of all shapes and sizes flying, talking under ornate buildings.  Thunder Rain is in his bedroom, sulking, as it were. 
"Father, why do I have to fly?" Thunder calls from behind a closed door.
"Because, well, because that's what all the colts your age do, come on!" Thunders father knocked on the door, "We don't have all day?"
"Why not?" Thunder Rain said, hiding beneath his covers.
"Son, you know as much as I do that we named you Thunder Rain for a reason, because your going to follow in the family hoofsteps and win the young flyer's competition, just like I did, and my father, and his father...." Storm said, rattling on about heritage and all that.  Thunder had heard this lecture a thousand times, his father constantly telling him how he really ought to fly.
Thunder sighed, knowing that the only thing to please his father would be to come out and try to go flying.  He pulls at his dark gray wings, thinking to himself, If only you were gone, I could just not have to fly!  
Thunder's bright yellow hair and dark gray coat, ragged and worn from hiding in bed, pulled themselves to order as Thunder prepared to walk out the door.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," He calls to his father, who is still banging on the wooden door, making the hinges creak as it bends inward.
"Good, I'm glad you've finally seen reason," Thunder's father, Storm Valor said, pacing up and down in front of his son's bedroom door, "And you be careful this time, we don't want a repeat of yesterday's flying session."  Once again, Thunder had heard this line a hundred times.  
As much as the small gray colt wanted to please his father, he just couldn't seem to fly.
"Here I am, happy?" Thunder says, throwing open the door.  
"Good, come on now," Storm Valor says, ushering his son down the steps and out the door.  "Now, son, I want you to fly UP, not DOWN, get it?" Thunder's father said, emphasizing on the words UP and DOWN as though Thunder didn't know what they meant.
"Yeah dad, I know..."
"Get UP there then!" 
Thunder sighed as he stretched his wings, Why, why, do I let him talk me into this? He thought, getting ready to plunge up into the sky.  The truth is, as much as his name would protest, Thunder loves fabric, clothing of all kinds.  His father noticed this early on in his life and has been trying to steer Thunder in the "proper" direction for upcoming colts, but Thunder would not be deterred.  
Many a time, Storm would sit his son down and explain the benifets of flying, but Thunder either didn't care or was too wrapped up trying to figure out how his father's vest was made to listen.
His mother, Rain Verge, wouldn't have her son showing the least bit of interest in un coltish things, but she wasn't as direct in approach to the issue as her husband.  She would often make snide comments to her son whenever he was distracted by a garment, so Thunder grew to dislike her, avoiding her whenever possible.
Right now though, Thunder really wished he was anywhere but here, flying practice....the part of the day he most dreaded.
"Go on son, like this," Storm Valor explains to his son, shooting up in the air, his yellow coat shining in the sunlight.  "You try," He says to Thunder, gesturing for him to join.
Thunder spread his wings, "I'm not sure about this, dad,"  He said, but all in all, he attempts to fly up.
Thunder flaps with all his might, trying, to no avail to reach his father.  Shooting up a couple of feet, but realizing how high he is....and being to scared to keep flapping, fell to the ground with a thump.
"Son, what have I told you about looking down?" Storm Valor said, landing gently next to his son, "You really haft to work on this fear of heights."
"Yeah yeah," Thunder pops his head out of the cloud he landed in, "But why can't I try sewing?"
"Thunder!  You can't, who knows what might happen to you!" Storm Valor said, his black ears flapping back at the very thought of his son turning to needlework.  "Now," Storm said to his son, hastily changing the subject, "UP, not DOWN, that's where you look.  Try again."
"Alright dad..." Thunder says uncertainly, looking at his father rising into the deep blue sky.  Thunder tried to fly again, this time making five feet up into the air, and hovering wildly, trying to maintain altitude.
"Great job son!" His father said, hovering with ease next to him, his yellow wings flashing up and down with barely any effort, "Now, just try to go a little higher..."
Thunder is too foucused now to respond, pouring all his energy into flying, trying hard to ignore the ground, he flies higher into the air.
"Great job!" His father said, flying along side his son, beaming with pride, "Higher!"
Thunder continues to rise, slowly, now ten feet above the ground, he notices something, something that shatters his concentration compleatly.  Rema Flash, one of the greatest pegasus fashion designers in Equestria flies by the father son flying lesson.  Thunder's mouth drops open.
Rema is wearing a new gown, encrusted with gems and rubies, a large billowing blue train flows off her back, her deep blue wings, matching the sky flapping through perfectly cut holes as she effortlessly hovers while talking with another pony.
Thunder is so agog at the sight of the dress, he forgets completely about his wings, thinking only of how the garment was stiched together.  
"Thunder!" Storm screamed, diving down after his falling son, but it's too late.  Thunder, realizing his own life could be on the line, stretches his wings, and tries gliding, the subject of yesterday's lesson.  The dark gray streak starts to curve, evening out above the ground as Thunder tries with all his might to break, he doesn't notice the tree coming up on him.
WHAM!!!
Thunder hit the tree with an increadible amount of force, creating a pony shaped hole in it's gnarled oaken bark.  A few feet away lied a little gray colt, limp and motionless, hiden among the forest foliage.