Rain teems down and pours through the ruined roof in rivulets. I huddle against the back wall on the rickety wooden bedframe. I claw at the threadbare blanket that covers my legs. It’s my only source of warmth and has been for as long as I can remember. Pa hasn’t got a lot of money for things like blankets. And food.

The blazing ball of fiery, white light that crashed through the roof with the deafening sound of thunder begins to dim. I peep out from the blanket but the light is still too bright to look at without searing my eyes. I look away. The imprint of the white glow fills my eyes as I look at the blanket.

Tonight’s storm rages and squalls. It used to rage and squall outside the shack but now – thanks to this blazing ball – it squalls in my bedroom. I have nothing of value so it doesn’t matter that the rain and wind tear into my room. My hair is knotted anyway so what folly is there if my blonde curls snarl about in the raging tempest.

I take another look at the brilliant radiance and this time I can look for a few seconds before having to blink away painful tears. There’s a definite shape in the centre of all that blinding light. The wind screams through the devastated roof. The rain pours down into my room. I have to know what did this.

I swing one foot out of bed. It’s freezing. I shield my face with my hands and try to peer out through my splayed fingers. The wind roars but isn’t loud enough to mask the small moan and the swish of feathers.