Liam chose the wrong day to fly.
His little wings were fighting the terrible wind, and losing. He was moving backward, but to try to land now, with this kind of current, would be suicide. He had to wait for it to die down at least a little, pushing his tired, fading energy.
The other starlings were right to stay in the tree. He had chirped to try to get them to come with him. They wouldn’t, not even Rita. So he flew. For three minutes, things were fine. Then the storm hit.
The wind let up, and Liam dove for the nearest tree. He put his feet out to land, but another gust came and blew him past the branch, past the tree, toward the concrete building. He twisted his wings to spin himself in the air, aimed back into the wind, and pushed himself. The brief respite was good, he was no longer entirely exhausted. Tired, but not exhausted.
He fought the wind, pushing against it, flapping his wings as fast as he could. It pushed back. The wind was stronger, and he moved closer and closer to the brick wall.
Liam saw a chance, though. He angled his wings, reducing his altitude. Lower and lower with every flap, and closer and closer to the building. Finally, he reached a piece of metal. He let the wind blow him another couple of inches, then dropped behind a doorway’s decorative extension. The wind could still be heard, and felt a little, but he was safe. Alone, but safe. He didn’t know how, or if, he could find his way back to the rest of the flock, but that was a matter for tomorrow. Or whenever this storm let up.