Even before I open my eyes, I feel the oppressive heat pressing down. Ughhh, Mom, did you leave the heat on overnight? My skin and mouth are dry, with the air tasting faintly of dust and dirt. I finally open my eyes.

  Wait, where am I? Did I die and go to Australia?

  I’m standing alone on an endless open plain. All around, I can see red dirt with clumps of dry grass and the occasional tree or bush. The sun hangs low on the horizon, but I can’t tell if it is morning or evening. When I look behind me, I spot a single landmark, a large mountain rising from the distant horizon. It looks flat on top and fills me with a deep sense of belonging.

  I’ve never been here, but for some reason it feels more like home than where I live.

  I feel the call again. This time it’s like a mother’s warm, gentle touch. It feels like a pull from that direction, a voice without words, something familiar. This has to be a dream. But it feels too real. What is this call? It doesn’t lead me to the top of the mountain like I expect, but along the side. I make my way across the thin, dry grass.

  Couldn’t I have started a little closer? After all, it is a dream, can’t I teleport there? But nothing I do works.

  I hear a cry above and glance up to see a large bird, one I’m fairly sure is an eagle. Seeing it gives me comfort and joy, like hearing my mom call for me when I get lost. It confuses me. My mom isn’t an eagle, but somehow I know it’s right. It calls a few more times, circling once before gliding off toward the mountain.

  The message is clear. I’m meant to follow it.

  After hours of walking toward the mountain, I see its features more clearly. Haven’t I seen it on TV? Something Rock, a really famous landmark in Australia. Is that where I’m being pulled toward?

  The sun climbs higher overhead, the heat growing with it. In the distance, the eagle gives a sorrowful cry. How can I tell how it feels… why does it hurt so much to hear it? It isn’t just calling to me. It’s searching for a lost soul, and the sound drives me faster.

  My instinct tells me to go around the side of the mountain and follow it, trusting that I’ll know what I’m looking for when I see it. It has to be around here somewhere. Weathered caves mark the side of the mountain, but that isn’t what interests me. What catches my eye is something simple in the distance. High in a tall, thin tree, a nest rests among the upper branches.

  I gulp, staring at the tree, oh no.

  It’s one of the least important things here, just one of many, but somehow it means everything. This doesn’t make sense. Why would I care about a ne…

  Looking up as I get closer, I realize just how far up the nest is. So close, yet so far. My heart sinks as I see no way up. The trunk is too wide to wrap my arms around, and there are few, if any, handholds. I dig my nails into the bark and try to climb, but just end up falling on my butt.

  There just isn’t enough grip. Come on, this is nonsense… so close.

  I growl in frustration, my heart aching with an immense feeling of loss. This is my home, but I can’t reach it. The thought rips through me, and a sound of pure pain tears out of my throat as I clench my hands. A sharp sting snaps me back as tingling spreads through my hands.

  I look down to see my fingers twisting, nails lengthening into claws digging into me as black fur spreads.

  For a moment, I can only stare in shock. What is going on?

  Then hope takes over. I dig my claws into the bark, amazed when they hold. I’ve gained purchase. Climbing the tree suddenly feels natural.

  I begin to slowly climb my way up. It feels so weird, and a smidge scary, like I’m way too high and only holding onto the tree with my claws. The bark against my paw pads feels strange and unusual. I’m surprised it doesn’t feel like my claws are being pulled out from my weight. But I manage to slowly make it up the tree until I can relax once I’m in the branches and find a place to rest.

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  I see the nest just a bit above me and so close. I made it. Maybe being a jaguar isn’t so bad if it lets me do this. The tree also feels like home, where I belong, something coming from the jaguar… but also something stronger, the feeling that called me here.

  After a moment, I climb again until I’m parallel with the nest.

  Standing on the edge of the nest is an eagle. It looks almost like a golden eagle or an immature bald eagle. She’s beautiful. I can tell she’s older, missing a few feathers but still carrying the quiet dignity of a raptor. For some reason, one word fills my head:

  Mom.

  As she turns and dips her head in a silent hello, I notice a faint stripe where her feathers shift in color.

  Then I hear her voice. Her words feel right.

  Son, you finally made it.

  The words pierce through me with the sudden realization that this should have been my mother. Tears well in my eyes as I try to understand. “What do you mean?”

  She looks at me, shaking her head. Her meaning comes clear, carried on warmth rather than sound.

  You were lost to me. We will likely never meet again, but I can give you this gift.

  Her talon pierces my skin, drawing blood, but I feel no anger or fear, just acceptance and happiness, and a feeling of warmth flowing into my hand as something fundamental shifts within me.

  Take my gift, and become my son.

  As she lets go of my hand, the surge hits, raw power and understanding flooding through me. It isn’t like before, this time it’s forceful, a command. And something within me recognizes it and embraces it fully.

  I give in to the feelings and command as my arms stretch outward, fingers fusing and lengthening. My face pushes forward, but not like the jaguar. This time the change feels harder, sturdier, a weight forming where bone replaces flesh as I realize I’m growing a curved beak. My feet curl and harden into talons. Ticklish pinpricks race across my skin as feathers burst through.

  This feels like it did in the jaguar dream, but somehow more real and powerful.

  I am right. It’s the only thing I think.

  My heart soars as it all feels right. I am home. I am what I was always meant to be, not a human bound to the ground, but my true self. Somewhere above, the sky calls to me, to embrace me.

  As the transformation finishes, I take a few deep breaths and look around. I can see farther now, every minute detail sharp and alive. I glance back at my mom, unsure how any of this is possible.

  She nods once, eyes warm and knowing.

  Go, my son, live the life you were meant to.

  As her presence fades, only a single feather remains, drifting gently in the air. I feel the last of her presence wrap around me like wings before it lifts away, flying into the sky and leaving only that feather drifting down. I stare at it as it falls, watching it twist in the air until it vanishes into the endless red plain below.

  A stillness settles around me, broken only by the soft whisper of wind brushing through the branches, ruffling my feathers the way the air should. My heart races as I look to the edge of the nest, the air beyond it bright and alive.

  I can do this. This is what I’m meant for.

  For a moment, fear grips me. The ground feels impossibly far away, but beneath that fear is something stronger, a pull, a promise. I spread my wings, feeling the air press up against them, almost as if it’s telling me to fly. The light catches on the feathers, and for the first time, I truly feel their weight, their purpose.

  I take one last breath.

  Then I step forward into the open sky.

  There’s a heart-pounding moment when nothing happens and I see the ground coming toward me.

  THIS IS A REALLY BAD IDEA!!!

  Just before I hit the ground, my wings catch the air and wrench me out of my dive. I’m not sure if I’m flying or falling until I shoot back up sharply, soaring into the sky. I give a skree at the top of my lungs, unable to stop myself. For the first time, I hear my true voice.

  This is great! I skree at the top of my lungs.

  When I look back, the desert is gone, replaced by a forest glowing with fall colors. Trees surround me, the wind rushing through my wings and sliding over my body. Elation floods me as I soar above the ground, racing through the open air. It’s like when your stomach flips, but instead of panic, there’s pure exhilaration.

  The air feels like where I belong.

  I weave between the trees, flooded with the pure joy of flight, amazed by how even the smallest movement of my wings shifts my path with almost no effort.

  The farther I fly, the more leaves drift down, bright red and yellow in the fading light. They begin to lose their color, paling until they turn white like snow. As the colors vanish, the air grows colder, and I blink against something hitting my eye.

  I realize it’s not leaves, it’s snow.

  Okay, this dream is getting too crazy. I need to wake up.

  The air is freezing, the world too bright to see, but nothing changes, as if I’m already awake. Then it hits me.

  THIS ISN’T A DREAM!!!

  In my shock, two things happen at once. First, I pull back in confusion, only to find out that unlike dreams or cartoons, you can’t just stop mid air. Suddenly, I plummet to the ground. OH SHIT!!!!