Wooden Bones by Scott William Carter

him. Even worse, their descent seemed to be drifting them farther apart.
    â€œPino!” Geppetto cried.
    They fell past white clouds of featherwings, woodsfolk in their slow drift to the ground. They fell through webs of branches, some that came dangerously close. They fell through wisps of fog. They fell faster and faster, the cool airnumbing cheeks and ears, and Pino knew it was only a matter of time before they reached the ground.
    Without featherwings of his own, he’d never survive. Geppetto was so far away. He had his hand on the strap that would release the featherwings, but he wasn’t pulling it.
    By shifting his body, leaning this way or that, Pino realized he could slightly alter the course of his fall. It was tricky, because too much leaning sent him spinning, but if he tilted just right, he angled toward Geppetto. He stretched out his arms. His papa stretched out in return. They were only inches away.
    Then a thick tree branch appeared out of the mist, directly in their path.
    At the last second Pino jerked backward, the branch grazing his nose. Geppetto, who hadn’t reacted as quickly, wasn’t nearly as lucky: The branch thumped his shoulder, sending him flying in another direction. The gap between them grew.
    Out of the mist Pino finally saw the ground rising to meet them, a black mouth opening to swallow them whole.
    â€œPull the strap!” he cried.
    â€œNo!” Geppetto shouted back.
    â€œPull it!”
    Geppetto shook his head and attempted to adjust his fall, bobbling, slowly drifting toward Pino. The ground was so close. Pino tucked in his arms and legs and leaned forward, slicing through the air like a blade. He was moving so fast that he knew there was a chance he’d fly right past Geppetto, but there was no time.
    They fell past the last of the branches. The long trunks of the giant trees loomed around them. The ground was so close Pino could now see individual leaves and mossy green stones.
    Pino realized at the last moment that he hadn’t aimed well enough—he was going to fly right past Geppetto.
    He twisted, stretching his arm as far as it would go, reaching out his hand.
    Geppetto grasped for him. They streaked past each other. Pino saw his papa’s anguished face.
    Then—with a last stretch—Geppetto grabbed his finger. Not just any finger. The first finger of his right hand, the one turning into wood. Geppetto grabbed tight, and just for a moment Pino saw the startled look on Geppetto’s face.
    Then Geppetto pulled them together. Pino hugged both arms and both legs around his papa’s body and closed his eyes, sure that it was too late, that they were going to hit the ground.
    The strap was pulled.
    There was a fluttering whirl as the feathers shot out of the pack, jerking them backward, gravity tugging at their feet. Pino felt his stomach drop and Geppetto’s arms pressing into his back.
    Then, as the featherwings did what they were intended to do, Pino and Geppetto soared through the forest.
    *  *  *
    It was either the speed of their fall or the sudden breeze that swirled from below, but their featherwings carried them much farther than Pino had expected. He’d been waiting with his eyes closed for the bone-jarring impact seconds after the featherwings opened, but when that didn’t happen, he opened his eyes.
    They swooped over the forest floor like an ungainly bird, dodging the massive trunks. Down here, in the thick forest, it was darker than up high. Craning his neck, Pino saw Geppetto working the braided cords that led into the whirlingfeathers above them, tugging one way, then the other.
    Up high there had been few birds, but now many birds fluttered out of the trees at their approach. The trunks passed in a blur. They lost altitude, the ground, littered with leaves and pine needles, getting ever closer to Pino’s feet.
    Finally, as they were about to touch ground, Geppetto yanked back on the cords,