Baby eagles can never soar under their family's wing.

Host: The mountain wind howled through the pine trees, carrying the smell of cold earth and the faint echo of a distant waterfall. The sun was sinking behind a veil of mist, painting the sky in streaks of dying gold. Jack and Jeeny stood at the edge of a cliff, their silhouettes dark against the fading light. The valley stretched below—vast, silent, endless.

A lone eagle circled high above, riding the wind’s wild currents.

Jack’s hands were in his coat pockets, his eyes tracing the bird’s effortless motion. Jeeny stood beside him, her hair whipping across her face, her gaze locked on the same sky.

Jeeny: “Liu Yang once said, ‘Baby eagles can never soar under their family’s wing.’”
(she smiles, faintly) “It’s a beautiful thought, isn’t it?”

Jack: (a low, dry laugh) “Beautiful? Maybe. But also cruel. That’s the world’s way, isn’t it? Push the young out of the nest, call it love.”

Host: The wind shifted, rustling through the branches, making them creak like old bones. The light was fading fast, blurring the line between earth and sky.

Jeeny: “It’s not cruelty, Jack. It’s freedom. You can’t grow in someone else’s shadow, even if that shadow loves you. The baby eagle doesn’t learn to fly until it’s alone with the wind.”

Jack: “Freedom’s just another word for being abandoned, Jeeny. You strip away comfort, safety, guidance—and call it destiny. But not everyone who’s thrown out learns to fly. Some just fall.”

Host: A long silence stretched between them, heavy as the air before a storm. Jack lit a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his face—all hard angles, the kind that the world had carved more than time.

Jeeny: “You sound like you’ve fallen before.”

Jack: “We all have. That’s why I don’t romanticize the fall. People love to quote lines like that, but they forget—most eagles die before they ever taste the sky.”

Host: Jeeny’s eyes softened, but her voice was steady. She stepped closer to the edge, peering down into the misty abyss.

Jeeny: “And yet some do soar. Isn’t that enough reason to believe in the risk? If they stayed under the family’s wing, they’d never even know what they were meant for.”

Jack: “So what? You think pain is necessary? That we need to be torn away from everything we love just to become ourselves?”

Jeeny: “I think love sometimes means letting go. Even parents know it. Look at history—look at the philosophers, the leaders, the artists. They all left the nests that comforted them. Buddha walked away from his palace. Picasso broke his teachers’ rules. If they hadn’t, they’d have stayed safe… and small.”

Host: The sky had turned to amber dust, and the last light clung to the mountain peaks like a memory refusing to fade. Jack exhaled, the smoke twisting upward, dissolving into the cold air.

Jack: “Maybe. But what about those who don’t have wings yet? You talk like everyone’s destined to soar. But not all of us are eagles. Some of us are just… grounded creatures, doing what we can to survive.”

Jeeny: “That’s not true, Jack. You have wings—you just don’t trust them.”

Jack: (his voice sharpens) “Trust doesn’t make gravity disappear.”

Host: The air crackled with their tension. The sound of the waterfall below grew louder, as though the mountain itself was listening. Jeeny turned to face him fully now, her eyes dark and alive with conviction.

Jeeny: “No, but courage does. The wind doesn’t care about trust or fear—it just is. You have to step into it, even if you’re shaking.”

Jack: “And if you crash?”

Jeeny: “Then you get back up. That’s what makes you soar. Not the flight itself, but the courage to fall again.”

Host: The wind whistled, carrying her words across the valley like a forgotten song. Jack looked at her for a long time—his expression unreadable, his cigarette slowly burning away between his fingers.

Jack: “You make it sound noble. But I’ve seen too many people broken by that kind of courage. Some never recover. I once knew a man—brilliant, kind, idealistic. His family sent him away to ‘find himself.’ He spent years wandering, chasing meaning. Ended up alone, talking to ghosts. He didn’t find flight, Jeeny. He found emptiness.”

Jeeny: “And yet… you’re still talking about him. That means his story didn’t die. Maybe that’s the real flight—leaving something behind that still moves others.”

Jack: “You turn tragedy into poetry too easily.”

Jeeny: “And you turn it into proof that hope is foolish.”

Host: A cloud drifted over the sun, casting the world in a cool shadow. A single eagle cry echoed in the distance, sharp and mournful. Both of them looked up.

Jeeny: “Do you hear that, Jack? That sound—it’s loneliness and liberation in the same breath. That’s what Liu Yang meant. You can’t soar under protection. You can only rise when you risk being alone.”

Jack: “And what if you never make it back?”

Jeeny: “Then at least you’ll know what the sky feels like.”

Host: Jack’s shoulders sagged, as if the weight of her words had landed squarely upon him. The wind tugged at his coat, pulling him gently toward the edge. He looked down—then up again at the vast, empty sky.

Jack: “You really believe solitude is the only way to freedom?”

Jeeny: “Not solitude. Separation. There’s a difference. You leave not because you hate where you came from—but because you’ve outgrown it.”

Host: The sun finally slipped below the horizon, and the world bathed itself in quiet twilight. The first stars began to appear, one by one, fragile and bright—like thoughts daring to exist in the dark.

Jack: “Maybe that’s what scares me. Growth feels too much like loss.”

Jeeny: “Because it is loss. Every beginning costs something. The eagle doesn’t hate the nest—it just knows it can’t stay.”

Host: For a moment, everything was still. The wind calmed, the trees stood silent, and the valley waited in solemn peace. Then Jack laughed, softly—less cynical this time, more human.

Jack: “You’re right. Maybe the nest isn’t meant to hold forever. Maybe it’s meant to fall apart.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “And when it does—you’ll remember the wind.”

Host: They stood together in silence, the mountains breathing around them, the stars spreading wider across the sky. The eagle above soared, its wings cutting through the thin air with effortless grace, until it was nothing more than a shadow against infinity.

Jack watched, his eyes softening.

Jack: “You know… maybe the family’s wing isn’t meant to shelter. Maybe it’s meant to give you the courage to fly away.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. The nest isn’t a cage—it’s the first lesson in freedom.”

Host: A quiet peace settled over them as the stars deepened. The wind now felt gentler, almost tender—like a hand at their backs, urging them forward.

Below, the valley remained silent, but above, the sky was alive—endless, vast, and open, waiting for every soul brave enough to leave the nest.

And in that stillness, Jack and Jeeny understood—that to love, to grow, and to truly live meant to let go… and to fly.