The Weight of the Wind

Ffyo was flying high—literally and figuratively. A recent string of wins had her soaring with confidence. She’d cracked a complex system map in record time, solved two internal disputes, and was being stimulated and inspired from all directions. She felt unstoppable.

So when she hit a wall—one she couldn’t see, fix, or force her way through—she didn’t take it well.

The task seemed simple: help reroute a misaligned network path affecting dozens of teams. She’d done it before. But this time, every fix broke something else. Each solution created more friction. The more she pushed, the worse it got.

She grew frantic. Stayed up late. Skipped meals. Her brain snapped at every thought. "Just keep moving," she muttered. "Figure it out. You’re Ffyo. You don’t stop."

One morning, bleary-eyed and frustrated, she climbed the ridge outside the canyon trail where the Rangers sometimes gathered. A low wind blew, but she didn’t feel it. All she felt was disappointment.

That’s when she saw her—an immense elephant seated quietly beneath a flowering acacia tree. Her presence stilled the air. Her eyes locked onto Ffyo without judgment or invitation.

“Do you know what wind weighs?” the elephant asked.

Ffyo blinked. “Wind doesn’t weigh anything.”

Tahluna tilted her head. “Then why are you carrying it?”

Ffyo opened her mouth to speak, then shut it. For the first time in days, she sat down.

The silence stretched. Bees buzzed. Leaves stirred. The sun warmed her wings.

“You’ve been sprinting through a sandstorm,” Tahluna said, voice low and calm. “And you’re upset that you can’t find the path.”

Ffyo exhaled sharply. “I’m not upset.”

Tahluna raised an ear. One of the bells around her neck gave a soft chime. Ffyo smirked.

“Okay. I’m... frustrated. But I don’t understand. I’ve fixed bigger things. Faster. Why is this one so out of reach and eluding me?”

Tahluna leaned forward slightly, her great tusks catching the sunlight. “Because this one is not meant to be forced. It is not a test of speed or strength. It is a lesson in weight.”

Ffyo furrowed her brow.

Tahluna continued. “Every time you push, you pick up more weight. The weight of expectation. Of perfection. Of fear. And the more you carry, the less you feel the wind.”

“The wind?” Ffyo asked.

“The wind is what whispers the truth. It shows you where the cracks are—not so you can fill them, but so you can understand what caused them.” She tapped the ground with her tusk. “You don’t need to run at the wall. You need to listen to the wind.”

Ffyo sighed. “I don’t know how to stop.”

Tahluna stood, slow and steady. “Then I will teach you.”

The two of them spent the next three days in silence. Ffyo watched Tahluna move—slow, deliberate, present. When she walked, the earth responded. When she rested, birds returned to the branches.

On the third day, Tahluna brought her to a dry streambed tangled with vines and rocks. “Solve this,” she said simply.

Ffyo crouched. For a moment, her old habits returned—analyzing, mapping, calculating. But then she remembered: the wind.

She closed her eyes. Felt the breeze snake around her ear. It shifted near one vine. A weak root. She traced it with her finger. Then another. The wind tickled a loose rock.

Piece by piece, she untangled the blockage—not by force, but by listening. Within an hour, the streambed ran again.

Tahluna smiled. “The solution was never far. But you had to stop carrying the wind to feel it.”

Ffyo stood tall, lighter than she had in weeks. “So... when I feel stuck again?”

Tahluna’s deep violet eyes gleamed. “Ask yourself: What am I carrying that doesn’t belong to me?”

Ffyo nodded. “And listen for the wind.”

“Always.”

As they walked back together, no words were needed. The breeze was enough.