PROLOGUE

One powerful stroke downwards and . . . Yes! Success! Soaring high above the trees he could feel the wind beneath his feathered wings. The wind whips across his face harshly, the very essence of exhilaration. Far below him the city thrives, people blow him as tiny as ants yet he is not afraid, he can fly!

He looks to one side to gaze wonderingly at his powerful new limbs. Firm muscles work underneath the glossy feathers, the glossy feathers that let him achieve flight. Looking closely he can see that he is leaving in his journey a trail of them. Feathers shed from his wings; they were losing their power, their grace. Suddenly there is a judder and he is losing altitude, suddenly the far away buildings are terrifying and the enlarging ant people the sign of sure death. Any minute now and his life would be extinguished. The people look up, point and gasp. It dawns on him, he is going to die. Any second now . . .

BANG! Ryan nearly jumped out of his skin as his bedroom door, which had drifted open during the night, slammed closed. His heart was racing and his skin was clammy. This must have been the fifth night in a row he had had that same dream and it was always the same ending. Disentangling from his sheet he felt round to the small lumps protruding from his shoulder blades.