As far as I could tell the transition from boy to man only meant that I now guarded our sheep at night instead of during the day. It was a cold and overcast night on the steppe – it was always too cold or too hot. The only good thing about the steppe was that you could gallop a horse across it for hours – days even. I was not in a good mood as I paced on the low hill looking down at our dwindling flock of sheep. My sister, Helene, was on the opposite hill so we couldn’t even speak. Helene always managed to brighten my mood. 

Guarding the flock was a necessity. Jackals and steppe wolves were plentiful, and the start of the Golden Eagle migration had been spotted two days earlier. Hundreds of the large raptors (more than capable of snatching up a lamb) would be flying overhead for the next few weeks. As if mustered out of my very thoughts, I heard wings overhead. I loosed an arrow towards the sound – I could see nothing in the starless night sky. Something crashed into the brush in the low between the hills – my arrow had found its mark. I raced to claim my prize – eagle feathers and talons had value. 

​​​Helene was already at the scene. ‘What have you done, Little Brother?’ she gasped. 

I struggled to comprehend what I saw. It was a woman – a winged woman. She was still alive, but she would not be for long. I had seen enough of death to know that. The creature was also very pregnant. ‘She has wings! What is a pregnant woman doing flying across the steppe at night?’ was all I could think of to answer my twin.