In this place, there was nothing more startling, strange, and frighteningly beautiful than a winged centaur. It was a very rare event to see one galloping, lighthearted, across a field dotted with wildflowers. And yet, it was happening. The centaur's name was Ceira. As she slid to a stop at the far end of the field, it was a wonder that creatures didn't stop to admire her.

Ceira had a golden coat and long, flowing golden hair. Her wings were immense and looked as if they had been taken out of the sun. Though large and breathtaking, they were absolutely useless.

Ceira was flightless. She tried to fly so many times that she had a number of scrapes and bruises from unexpected landings. In this land, any creature as big as a centaur would need magic to fly. There was a legend of magic, and that this world had been rid of it long ago, but everyone knew that it was just a fable.

There must have been some magic, to allow animals to talk and centaurs to exist, but only a very little amount that no one could detect, let alone use. Gonera was shaped by creatures of imagination, from the mind of a small child to the complicated legends of an entire civilization. All the magical creatures had been either stripped of their magic, or banished from the world.

The reason Ceira was so happy was that it was windy. She could feel the wind catch at her wings, feel it lifting her into the turbulent air— if only it were real. If only that sensation would last. But Ceira had an imagination, and she pretended it had worked, that she was finally flying. She stood with her arms out and raised, her head lifted, and her wings spread. She drank in the sweet scent of the meadow grass, and wished the day would never end.

As the breeze died down, she lowered her arms and wings and looked out across the field. Her brother, Timothy, was plowing the fields with her father. They were both brown with a black tail and hair, and didn't understand what it was like to have wings. Timothy and Ceira's father seemed to be arguing about something. Ceira leaned closer to hear more.

"Need help sowing seeds...heavy winds...Ceira...knows about wind..." Ceira managed to pick up some bits of conversation between them. Then Timothy yelled to her.

"Ceira! Come help us sow the seeds and stop daydreaming!" Timothy. He was a typical brother.

"I wasn't daydreaming," muttered Ceira, too quiet for them to hear. She sighed, remembering the sensation of the whipping wind tugging at her wings and hair, coming from the frigid lands of the Far North. She reluctantly trotted over to her brother and father, giving Timothy a cold glare as she passed.

Her father addressed her. "Ceira, the winds are too heavy for us to sow the seeds. This is a very important crop," he went on, ignoring Ceira's look of dismay, "and we need to plant it before growing season is over. You can shield the seeds from the wind with your wings, and we'll plant them."

"And why would the wind be a problem with sowing seeds?" Ceira asked, exasperated. "It's not like they're dandelions or poppies, blowing away on the breeze."

Her brother sighed. "Look, Ceira, you know most centaurs in Gonera hate the wind. We can't concentrate on the crop one bit! Please help us.." Ceira liked the way he had ended up begging her to help him.

Ceira smirked and said, "No. I want to have some free time to enjoy the wind in my feathers, for once."

Her father scowled. Uh oh. Now there was trouble. "Ceira," he growled, "you know you have to help us. I am your father, and you shouldn't dare disrespect Timothy and I like that!" He walked up to her, and nudged her toward the hole Timothy had dug for a group of seeds. Ceira sighed. At least she'd have to do this instead of her chores.

She spread her wings and held fast in the strong wind, giving them protection, even if it was undeserved, according to her. They finished and moved on to the next hole they had dug for the seeds.

"Ceira! Come here, remember?" Ceira had been too busy daydreaming about flying to notice that they had moved. She sighed and dragged her hooves disappointedly to her father and brother. She opened her wings again, rocking as the wind swayed her light form.

She looked up at the sky, with its dark gray clouds obscuring the two suns. Even with the heavy wind and the coming storm, she wished she could be up there now, soaring above this sad excuse for a farm.

She spent her day moving with Timothy and her father to the next hole, and the next, and the next, all the while wishing that she was doing something different, even copying runes onto the cedar wood they used for writing at school. At some point in her daydreaming, the wind changed, bringing with it warmth from the Flowering Lands of the south. She shuffled her feet, bored, until she was on the other side of Timothy and her father.

When the three centaurs took a break, Ceira was extremely relieved to be able to close her wings. Her shoulder muscles were burning now, after holding up her wings in ferocious wind for hours.

Ceira trotted across the field to a cedar tree and laid down. Although there were still gray clouds above her, and darker ones on the horizon, Ceira could feel the intense heat from the southern wind.

Ceira was startled when the direction of the wind shifted yet again. Even though it was spring, she started shivering as the warmth faded quickly. Ceira had a feeling that the wind somehow had a mind of its own and was obliging her wishes for the heat to go away.

The current of air picked up speed, and Ceira was lucky she had the shelter of the cedar tree. Every home in Gonera, for reasons unknown to her, was required by law to have a cedar tree somewhere on the property, within an acre of the house. This one was within an acre of the house, but barely.

Crack! Ceira looked up, startled. A branch of the cedar was dangling above her head! "I didn't know the wind was that strong!" Ceira muttered. She heard a creak and another crack, and the branch started to fall. Ceira leaped up and out of the way.

She knew the cedar tree wasn't safe anymore. She glanced out at the wind and clouds, which were turning into a windstorm, and felt a thrill of fear go through her. She looked back at the tree. Creaks and groans were coming from it, more frequently now. She decided she would make for the house, and stepped into the storm.

A blast of air so strong Ceira thought it could have toppled an oak knocked Ceira off of her hooves. "Ow..." she groaned, clutching her left arm. She gritted her teeth. Her arm felt like fire, even though she was shaking uncontrollably in the windy, freezing weather phenomenon.

Plunk! Something hard and cold hit Ceira in the back of the neck. She reached up to clutch her neck, her wings involuntarily opening slightly when she couldn't reach. The wind was knocked out of her when the current picked her up and drove her hard into the ground. She was glad it was soft soil for the crop, otherwise she thought a bone would have been broken.

More round, cold objects came plummeting out of the sky. In a red haze of pain and fear, Ceira could hardly make out that they were balls of hail. Lightning tore open the sky, and thunder crashed like shields colliding in a battle of the elements. The south wind and the north wind raced at each other, crashing in the battlefield with a mix of hail and rain. Ceira had no idea how there could be both. They were completely separate, and the rain didn't melt the hail at all.

The house. Blinking open her tightly clenched eyes, Ceira lifted her head and stared across the now sopping wet field. I have to get to the house. She rose shakily, letting out a shriek of pain as her arm was jostled by the wind. Her muscles protested loudly in her mind as she took stuttering steps forward, buffeted by wind on all sides.

She started when lightning flashed near her, its jagged beam illuminating her surroundings. Blinking the brights from her eyes, she staggered on. She gave a screech when she could no longer feel the ground beneath her feet. The wind lifted her up, whirling her around like a whirlpool in the ocean. It tangled her hair and ruffled her feathers.

Her pain cleared somewhat, and Ceira was able to enjoy the sensation of flying. Even through the hail bruising her delicate skin, she found that she could be happy, her heart as well as her body feeling light as a feather, drifting among the clouds.

The sensation didn't last. A heavy gust of wind brought her crashing back down, plummeting at breakneck speed. She could not hold back her fear. The golden centaur screamed, for fear that her life would end, for fear that Timothy would never know she actually loved him, for fear that her father's last memory of her would be a grumbling thirteen-year-old reluctantly doing her chores.

What happened next could not be explained. As if spurred on by a sudden burst of instinct, the centaur flapped her sopping wet, heavy wings. Once. Twice. She leveled out her flight just as she reached the ground. Something was helping her, she just knew it. Twenty yards of the house, she crashed and tumbled down, falling to her knees.

Tears of relief streamed down Ceira's face. She wept for herself, for her family, for the farm. Yes, her arm was burning up. Yes, she had seemingly millions of bruises from the hail. Yes, she was wet. Yes, she was shivering, her fingers were turning blue, she would probably get hypothermia and die. But for now, for the moment, she was alive. She had not fallen, broken her neck, and died. She lived.

"CEIRA!" Ceira's mother galloped out of the house. Her scream was permeated with emotion. Mostly, it was fear, but there was awe and love in there as well. She helped Ceira, still sobbing, to her hooves. Ceira never thought she would see her mother cry. Now, Ceira's mother, this tall, proud figure, was sobbing. Their combined tears adding to the wetness of the rain and the hail, they stumbled toward the warm comfort and safety of the house. Ceira could tell her mother was trying to shield her from the rain, wind, hail, and lightning as best as possible. It was what mothers did.

Ceira and her mother gasped with relief as they entered the house. They were smothered with hugs as Timothy and her father trotted up. All of them were weeping. Ceira, after managing to get out of their tight embrace, collapsed on a warm, fuzzy rug. Gradually, her shivering subsided as her family scavenged the house for blankets, placing them one by one on top of her.

It was getting late, and her mother insisted that she go to bed and make sure to sleep in the next day. Ceira wanted to object, but every part of her hurt and she knew she would never get time alone to puzzle over what had happened otherwise.

Yawning, Ceira made her way into her bedroom, plodding along, exhausted. She laid on her side and closed her eyes. Almost immediately she fell into the deep, dark realms of sleep.

She woke up later and looked at her clock. 2 a.m. She knew it was no use trying to go back to sleep now. Instead, she laid there, thinking. Her brows furrowed worriedly. She tried to sleep again, but her worry was like a nagging thorn, keeping her awake and apprehensive. What was it? Why was she so worried?

When she was flying over the cedar tree, something extraordinary happened. She had skimmed the top, and it had suddenly burst into flames. This had only lasted for an instant; after that, it exploded, and was no more.