It was the second planet from a yellow sol-type Sun. Unremarkable in so many ways. It had a breathable atmosphere, slightly denser than Earth's. It was very slightly smaller, so the gravity was lower.

In fact, the only special thing about it was that it had developed a range of humanoid life forms. Most of these resembled mythological figures, a result of an accident several billion years ago with an infinite improbability drive.

There was only one continent on this planet. A massive desert occupied the centre. Most of the edge consisted of cities, farms, and in general rather resembled a community found anywhere in space time. They had not discovered space flight, and why should they? Everything they needed was here.

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The desert was huge, huge and mostly empty. Vampires could not come here, for there was no shelter from the sun, no shelter from the blazing rays that could kill them, and they were many days' walk into the desert here. Desert foxes hunted voles amongst the ruins of ancient cities. The occasional centaur galloped past, hunting desert rabbits with their elegant, powerful bows.

And the tribe lived here, a tribe of winged people. Free and wild in the desert. They were as hardy as the desert plants, as permanent as the outcrops of stone that had been there forever. Each small child knew the plants and stones of the desert better than they knew their own reflections.

The girl stood on top of the rock, looking at the soft sand below. "I'll be fine. Ma will catch me if I fall. I won't fall. I won't fall."

Her black and silver wings fluttered softly as she spread them. Her mother hovered in front of her, white wings and gold, like every other winged one. The girl was different, the elders said, special. She would save the tribe, the stars told them.

Even the girl knew that when the stars spoke, you must listen. The stars were tiny gods and they controlled fate.

"I won't let you fall, honey. You'll be fine." Her mother held out her arms. "I promise I will catch you."

The girl jumped from the rock, snapping open her wings and closing her eyes. She caught an up draft of warm air, and it lifted her high up. When she dared look, the ground was far away. Her tribe rose around her.  The girl had never felt so free.

Encouraged by her older brother, she tried a small swoop, then a bigger one. Her mother and father clapped. She faced the ground, closing her wings and fell down, down towards the earth. She caught herself metres from the sand, her brother beside her, ready to catch her if she needed help. But she rose up in lazy spirals, and she was fine. Better than ever before.

She flew laughing with her brother, her father and mother, the whole family together, and she was safe, safe, safe in the sky.

Three nights later, the hunters came. Eagle shifters, desert fox shifters, and humans, with nets and rope and swords. They killed the adults, killed the elders, and tied the children with ropes. The girl screamed, screamed for her brother, the brother who she would trust with her life. But he was taken away from her, tied with ropes as he called her name again and again with a voice turned hoarse from shouting.

She was trapped, held on the earth, away from the freedom of the sky. And she would never again hear her father's laugh, feel her mother comb her hair with the wooden comb, so valuable in a desert where all the plants were tiny cacti.

She was five years old, and she would never see her parents again.