“Father! Father, look!” The young boy squealed. “I’m flying! I can touch the clouds! I can feel the breeze! I can see the sun!”

Daedalus laughed. He hadn’t seen his son this happy in a while. Back in Crete, the island now far behind them, the boy hadn’t had a very happy childhood. And now, with his soft downy and beeswax wings, Icarus laughed once more.

Icarus flew circles around his father, ripping through the clouds. “I feel like a god! It’s like I’m on the great Olympus, flying on the winds Aeolus himself! Oh, father, you’re the greatest inventor to ever live! I’m flying!” He flipped and twisted in the air.

Daedalus laughed. “You flatter me, my boy. But we’re free! Our only limit is how far we can fly!” Icarus took that was a challenge. He swooped down towards the water as the sea sprayed upon his face. Then he arched back up, reaching out his arms and crying his joy to the heavens. Daedalus followed, and the two soared into the distance of their newfound freedom.