Wings of Wisdom

How Two Rivals Found Common Ground

In the golden heart of the southern plains, where the earth stretched wide and open, the sky painted in endless blues and oranges, two great birds ruled the land—though not in the same way.

Ozric, the ostrich, was the fastest creature for miles. With powerful legs that pounded the ground like drums of a distant tribe, he raced the wind and won. He boasted feathers like a wild storm and eyes sharp enough to spot trouble from the other side of the plain. Ozric was proud, confident, and not exactly humble.

"Why fly," he would say, puffing up his chest, "when your legs can dance with the earth itself?"

Meanwhile, across the drier, rockier edge of the plains lived Emara, the emu. She was quieter than Ozric, with feathers like windblown grass and a mind as deep as the desert sky. She could not run quite as fast, but she observed everything. She listened to the wind, watched the stars, and knew stories of their ancestors passed down through generations.

Emara believed wisdom was more powerful than speed.

The two birds had never met, but they knew of each other. Rumors flitted from parrot to kookaburra to jackal, always mixing admiration with rivalry. Ozric thought Emara sounded like a dusty book of riddles. Emara imagined Ozric as a loud whirlwind with legs.

One dry season, a strange hush fell over the land. The rains were late. The lakes had shrunk to muddy puddles. Animals began migrating farther than ever before, and territories started overlapping. That's how it happened.

One dawn, when the sun had barely broken the horizon, Ozric spotted a figure drinking from what he considered his watering hole. He stormed down the slope, dust swirling behind him.

"Hey! That’s my spot!" he shouted, neck stretched high.

Emara turned slowly, calm as always. "I wasn’t aware the water answered to you."

Ozric blinked. He wasn’t used to calm replies. "Well... it doesn't. But I always drink here first. Everyone knows that."

Emara stepped aside, still composed. "Then drink. I’ll wait."

Ozric narrowed his eyes. This wasn’t how challenges usually went. He slurped from the water, casting glances at her. She waited patiently.

Finally, curiosity overran pride. "You’re Emara, right? The thinking emu?"

"That’s what they say. And you’re Ozric, the loud runner."

Ozric frowned. "Fast runner. And... okay, maybe a little loud."

That was the start.

For days, they crossed paths. At first, it was tense. Ozric questioned Emara’s odd habit of watching the stars. Emara poked fun at how often he preened. But slowly, something shifted.

One evening, Emara sat watching the horizon, eyes focused. Ozric flopped beside her, feathers ruffled from another solo race.

"Why do you stare at the sky so much?" he asked.

"Because it tells stories."

Ozric snorted. "Stars don’t talk."

"No, but they remember. See that one?" She pointed with her beak. "That’s Wira. The flame star. My great-grandmother said when it moves left, the dry season ends."

Ozric followed her gaze. The star shimmered faintly.

"So you’re waiting for it to move?"

Emara nodded. "It’s moving slower this year. That means something is wrong."

Ozric was silent for once.

The next morning, trouble arrived.

A wildfire, whipped up by lightning and wind, tore through the southern grasslands. Animals ran. Trees cracked and screamed. Ozric, ever fast, bolted with ease—but he saw others falling behind. Calves bleated, young wallabies trembled, and birds panicked.

And Emara?

She wasn’t running. She was circling back, helping a baby dingo limp through smoke. Ozric watched from a hilltop, breath fast.

She’ll get caught. She’s going to get herself killed!

Without thinking, he ran back.

Together, they pushed through smoke and flame, Emara guiding the frightened animals, Ozric using his speed to scout clear paths. They moved like a perfect rhythm—brains and legs, wisdom and speed.

When they finally reached the river bend, smoke-stained and panting, the animals huddled in silence. Ozric looked at Emara. Her feathers were singed, her eyes still calm.

"You went back," she said.

"So did you."

They laughed. For the first time, it wasn’t awkward.

In the weeks that followed, the dry season broke. Rain returned. The land healed. And something else grew—respect.

Ozric still ran races, but he started asking questions. He learned that Emara knew how to find water underground, how to read wind by grass direction, and how to tell if a storm was coming by bird silence.

Emara, in turn, joined him on long sprints, learning the terrain better than ever. She still preferred stargazing, but sometimes, she raced beside him just to feel the wind.

They became legends—not for being the fastest or the wisest—but for proving that strength and smarts, when shared, made both stronger.

One twilight, as they stood side by side watching the stars, Emara said, "Wira is moving again. The season turns."

Ozric nodded. "Good. Maybe next season, we race the wind together."

And so they did.

From that day on, animals told the tale of the ostrich and the emu—not as rivals, but as partners. Of how speed met sense, and both became better. Of the Wings of Wisdom.

The End.