A story
Tumble the Penguin Chick Flies Under the Sea
Far away, at the bottom of the world, there was a land of white snow, blue ice, and a sea that sparkled like a million diamonds. On a rocky shore in that land lived a big, noisy family of penguins. And the smallest, fluffiest, most curious penguin of all was a chick named Tumble.
Tumble was covered in soft grey fluff, like a little cloud with feet. He had a short black beak, two bright eyes, and two small flippers that he flapped whenever he was excited. He got his name because he was always tumbling over: over rocks, over snowdrifts, and sometimes over his own feet.
Every day, Tumble watched the sky.
Above the shore, the seagulls swooped and soared. They spread their long white wings and floated on the wind, high over the ice. One gull, named Pell, often landed on a rock near Tumble.
"What's it like up there?" Tumble asked Pell one morning.
"Wonderful," said Pell, ruffling his feathers. "You can see the whole sea. You feel the wind under your wings. It's like dancing in the air."
Tumble looked at his own flippers. They were short and stiff. "I want to fly too," he said.
Pell tilted his head kindly. "Well, you could try."
So Tumble tried. He climbed to the top of a small snowy hill. He flapped his flippers as fast as he could. Flap-flap-flap-flap! Then he jumped.
He did not go up. He went down, sliding on his fluffy tummy all the way to the bottom of the hill. Whoosh! He landed in a soft pile of snow with only his feet sticking out.
The other penguin chicks laughed, and Tumble laughed too, because sliding had actually been rather fun. But he still wanted to fly.
He tried again from a taller rock. Flap-flap-flap! Bump. He landed on his bottom.
He tried running very fast and then flapping. Patter-patter-patter, flap-flap! Tumble. He rolled over three times and stopped beside his mother's feet.
His mother looked down at him. She was tall and sleek, with a shiny black back, a white front, and a soft splash of yellow on her neck.
"What are you doing, my little one?" she asked.
"I'm trying to fly like Pell," said Tumble, sitting up and shaking snow from his head. "But my flippers don't work. They're too small."
His mother smiled. "Your flippers work very well," she said. "They just work in a different place."
Tumble blinked. "What place?"
"You'll see," said his mother. "But first, you need to grow."
So Tumble waited. The days grew longer. Every day his mother and father went to the sea and came back with fish for him. Little by little, Tumble grew bigger. His grey fluff began to fall out in soft clumps, and underneath it, new feathers grew. They were smooth and shiny, black on his back and white on his tummy, just like his parents'.
One bright morning, his mother said, "It's time. Come with me."
She walked down to the edge of the ice. Tumble waddled after her. The sea was very big and very blue. Little waves lapped against the ice, splish, splash. The water looked cold and deep.
Tumble stopped. His tummy felt fluttery.
"Into the water?" he said. "But I wanted to fly in the sky."
"Trust me," said his mother gently. "I'll be right beside you."
Some of the other young penguins were standing at the edge too. One of them, a chick named Flurry, was hopping nervously from foot to foot. "I'm scared too," she whispered to Tumble.
Tumble took a deep breath. "Let's go together," he said.
Flurry nodded. They stood side by side at the edge of the ice.
"One," said Tumble.
"Two," said Flurry.
"Three!" they said together, and they jumped.
Splash!
For a moment, everything was bubbles. Cold, fizzy, tickling bubbles all around him. Tumble squeezed his eyes shut.
Then he opened them.
And he gasped.
Under the water, the world was blue and green and glowing. Rays of sunlight came down from above like golden ribbons. Tiny silver fish darted past in a sparkling cloud. Far below, he could see pink and orange sea stars on the rocks.
Tumble moved his flippers. Just a little. And suddenly, he shot forward through the water, fast and smooth.
He moved them again. He swooped up. He swooped down. He turned in a big, wide circle, and bubbles streamed out behind him like a silver scarf.
He was not tumbling. He was not bumping. He was gliding, swooping, and soaring.
"I'm flying!" Tumble cried, and a stream of happy bubbles came out of his beak. "Mama, I'm flying!"
His mother swam beside him, sleek and swift. "You are," she said. "This is how penguins fly. Our sky is the sea."
Flurry zoomed past, spinning like a top. "Tumble, look at me!"
The two young penguins raced each other between the rocks. They chased the silver fish. They looped around a big, slow jellyfish that floated by like a pink umbrella, being careful not to touch it. They dived down deep and then zoomed up toward the sunlight.
When they finally popped out of the water, Tumble landed on the ice with a big, wet slide. He was tired and happy and a little bit hungry.
Pell the gull was waiting on his rock. "I saw you!" he said. "You were so fast down there. I could never do that."
Tumble shook the water off his shiny new feathers. "You can't swim under the sea?" he asked.
"Not like that," said Pell. "My wings are made for the air. Yours are made for the water."
Tumble looked at his flippers. They didn't seem small and stiff anymore. They seemed just right.
"I think," said Tumble, "I like being a penguin."
That night, as the pale sun hung low over the ice, Tumble snuggled up beside his mother. He dreamed of blue water, golden ribbons of light, and swooping through the sea like a bird through the sky.
Tumble was covered in soft grey fluff, like a little cloud with feet. He had a short black beak, two bright eyes, and two small flippers that he flapped whenever he was excited. He got his name because he was always tumbling over: over rocks, over snowdrifts, and sometimes over his own feet.
Every day, Tumble watched the sky.
Above the shore, the seagulls swooped and soared. They spread their long white wings and floated on the wind, high over the ice. One gull, named Pell, often landed on a rock near Tumble.
"What's it like up there?" Tumble asked Pell one morning.
"Wonderful," said Pell, ruffling his feathers. "You can see the whole sea. You feel the wind under your wings. It's like dancing in the air."
Tumble looked at his own flippers. They were short and stiff. "I want to fly too," he said.
Pell tilted his head kindly. "Well, you could try."
So Tumble tried. He climbed to the top of a small snowy hill. He flapped his flippers as fast as he could. Flap-flap-flap-flap! Then he jumped.
He did not go up. He went down, sliding on his fluffy tummy all the way to the bottom of the hill. Whoosh! He landed in a soft pile of snow with only his feet sticking out.
The other penguin chicks laughed, and Tumble laughed too, because sliding had actually been rather fun. But he still wanted to fly.
He tried again from a taller rock. Flap-flap-flap! Bump. He landed on his bottom.
He tried running very fast and then flapping. Patter-patter-patter, flap-flap! Tumble. He rolled over three times and stopped beside his mother's feet.
His mother looked down at him. She was tall and sleek, with a shiny black back, a white front, and a soft splash of yellow on her neck.
"What are you doing, my little one?" she asked.
"I'm trying to fly like Pell," said Tumble, sitting up and shaking snow from his head. "But my flippers don't work. They're too small."
His mother smiled. "Your flippers work very well," she said. "They just work in a different place."
Tumble blinked. "What place?"
"You'll see," said his mother. "But first, you need to grow."
So Tumble waited. The days grew longer. Every day his mother and father went to the sea and came back with fish for him. Little by little, Tumble grew bigger. His grey fluff began to fall out in soft clumps, and underneath it, new feathers grew. They were smooth and shiny, black on his back and white on his tummy, just like his parents'.
One bright morning, his mother said, "It's time. Come with me."
She walked down to the edge of the ice. Tumble waddled after her. The sea was very big and very blue. Little waves lapped against the ice, splish, splash. The water looked cold and deep.
Tumble stopped. His tummy felt fluttery.
"Into the water?" he said. "But I wanted to fly in the sky."
"Trust me," said his mother gently. "I'll be right beside you."
Some of the other young penguins were standing at the edge too. One of them, a chick named Flurry, was hopping nervously from foot to foot. "I'm scared too," she whispered to Tumble.
Tumble took a deep breath. "Let's go together," he said.
Flurry nodded. They stood side by side at the edge of the ice.
"One," said Tumble.
"Two," said Flurry.
"Three!" they said together, and they jumped.
Splash!
For a moment, everything was bubbles. Cold, fizzy, tickling bubbles all around him. Tumble squeezed his eyes shut.
Then he opened them.
And he gasped.
Under the water, the world was blue and green and glowing. Rays of sunlight came down from above like golden ribbons. Tiny silver fish darted past in a sparkling cloud. Far below, he could see pink and orange sea stars on the rocks.
Tumble moved his flippers. Just a little. And suddenly, he shot forward through the water, fast and smooth.
He moved them again. He swooped up. He swooped down. He turned in a big, wide circle, and bubbles streamed out behind him like a silver scarf.
He was not tumbling. He was not bumping. He was gliding, swooping, and soaring.
"I'm flying!" Tumble cried, and a stream of happy bubbles came out of his beak. "Mama, I'm flying!"
His mother swam beside him, sleek and swift. "You are," she said. "This is how penguins fly. Our sky is the sea."
Flurry zoomed past, spinning like a top. "Tumble, look at me!"
The two young penguins raced each other between the rocks. They chased the silver fish. They looped around a big, slow jellyfish that floated by like a pink umbrella, being careful not to touch it. They dived down deep and then zoomed up toward the sunlight.
When they finally popped out of the water, Tumble landed on the ice with a big, wet slide. He was tired and happy and a little bit hungry.
Pell the gull was waiting on his rock. "I saw you!" he said. "You were so fast down there. I could never do that."
Tumble shook the water off his shiny new feathers. "You can't swim under the sea?" he asked.
"Not like that," said Pell. "My wings are made for the air. Yours are made for the water."
Tumble looked at his flippers. They didn't seem small and stiff anymore. They seemed just right.
"I think," said Tumble, "I like being a penguin."
That night, as the pale sun hung low over the ice, Tumble snuggled up beside his mother. He dreamed of blue water, golden ribbons of light, and swooping through the sea like a bird through the sky.
