All in a purple, spring warmed evening the young boy climbed the stairs. His step was slow and sure, and it seemed as though he were treading a path no other in this home could follow.

The house, silent now, seemed to darken behind him as he walked. His bedroom faced south, and through the large, white window the boy could see the new stars gathering like a congregation of candles in the sapphire sky.

He walked over to the bed and stood beside it for a moment. Then, with a faint smile, he climbed onto the soft, white coverlet and kneeled, facing the foot of the bed.

He knew the words off by heart, and when he spoke his voice was firm and clear.

“Shankelly brazen, torson black. Wings of ivory, head of a cat. Spirits of nightshade, all to come. Shafts of lightning, bear me on!”

Rising, turning, faster and faster, the sheets stretching out into translucent wings, through the window and out into the night. Not cold, not hot, no wind, the earth flashing below, further and further away.

First a silence deep as dying, the stars wrapped around his head like a twilight blanket. Then the deep,whispering music, coming from everywhere and nowhere, seeming to rise and fall in his head and heart.

And then came the others, dancing like swallows until the sky was peopled by a concert of children, calling to each other until the azure air was filled with their echoing laughter.

Soon, as if as one, they began to come together, circling closer and closer, spiralling up and up and up. Now form and shape was disappearing, faster they climbed, arrowing into a warm and waiting blackness.

But the pealing, silver laughter faded slowly, so very slowly. Then silence.