(A writing exercise that had to use all the words in the title)
“Teacher, are you there?” Isabel whispered, tapping the rough tree trunk.
An eye blinked open and swiveled down at her. “Is it summer already?”
Isabel grinned and nodded. “It makes you thirsty. You really want a drink.”
The knothole of wood that was her teacher’s mouth shifted up at the corners. “My roots are deep enough for that. You just want me to make it rain.”
Isabel stretched out her wings. Wind stirred the feathers. “No, I want to create a storm to ride. Do you know how to create storms?”
“How would I know that?” he barked, his “eyes” narrowing.
“You’re a tree.” Isabel sighed and grabbed a branch, swinging to make her point. She spread her wings for balance. “You’re buried in sky. And all rain will one day feed your roots, as you pointed out.” Her voice dropped to a whisper again. “So teach me to create storms.”
“Ah, bird girl.” Wind rustled in the teacher’s boughs. “You’re a hatchling yet. If I give you a storm, it will blow you down.”
She shot into the air, beating her wings indignantly through his leaves. “Won’t! I grew much stronger since the spring. It rained a lot, then, you know. But not for me.” She set her feet on two branches and crouched, caressing the trunk. “Teacher, create me a storm.”
Thunder rumbled. Isabel smiled.