Benjamin Constable

Boy and machine projected shadows down the hill that rippled in the grass and the wind, curious, bustled around them, making the contraption sing with clicks and vibrations – take me with you. Take me with you Abbas Ibn Firnas. We will soar above fields and trees, gliding over villages without a sound, circling on thermals up, across the hills into the next valley, a long way off, high towards the border. No one will see us as we fly Abbas, beyond the reach of guns and soldiers.
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