Wing-dance: Spec-fic

When the wing-dance went down, nobody noticed until the next day, when everybody was coming back into town with their tail feathers all a-straggle, dangling and torn. the mothers shook their heads and scolded their sons. Every year it was the same: Don't do the wing-dance, they were told. Every year it was the same: the sons snuck out and did the wing-dance. It was their rite of passage, and all knew it and couldn't say much against it. It was, after all, tradition. A tradition that claimed many younglings' lives each year, yes, but still-tradition. And so each year the mothers waited and watched and counted the young men when they returned--
Inspiration: "Wing-dance" just floated into my head.
Story Potential: Low.
Notes: Blech.