The wind lifts them high, and the sky is wide and clear. Kai holds up his pinwheel and it spins and spins, a small bright wheel against all that blue. Sol's feathers shine gold again, and they ride the wind all the way home.

Something deep in the well shifted. Then the wind came out — not slowly, but all at once, rushing past Kai's face in a cool, bright rush. Below, the rivers of light broke into a thousand small waves.

Kai raised his pinwheel and blew as hard as he could. The little paper blades spun fast and let out a thin, clear whistle. The sound dropped down into the dark well like a stone into water.

Sol flapped his great wings hard, but the wind only snored louder. Kai put his hand on Sol's wing and shook his head. The wind didn't need pushing — it needed a song.

At the edge of the terrace, a great stone chasm opened in the ground. It was wide as a house and shaped like a flute. Deep inside, the wind lay curled and still, breathing out slow, rumbling snores.

Sol set down on a high cloud shelf and folded his wings. The stones were cold and quiet under his feet. Kai rested his hand on Sol's side and felt the slow, tired rise and fall of each breath.

The mountains ahead were wrapped in thick gray fog. It pressed against Sol's golden feathers until they went dull and flat. Kai could feel the cold damp on his face, and the air smelled like wet stone.

Below them, rivers stretched out flat and still, bright as glass in the quiet air. No ripple crossed the water, not even a small one. Kai looked down and felt how deep the silence was.

Kai held on tight, and Sol leaped up into the sky. The air was thick and still, like pushing through something heavy. Sol's wings beat hard, but the wind did not come.

Kai held up the pinwheel. It hung still in the heavy air. Sol bent his head and touched the paper blades with his beak — and they both knew what they had to do.

A golden bird dropped out of the still sky and landed in the grass beside Kai. His name was Sol, and his feathers hung heavy and flat. Without wind, even a phoenix could not fly.

The morning was still. No leaf moved, no blade of grass bent. Kai stood in the garden holding his paper pinwheel up, but it would not turn.