The light is dazzling, hurting her eyes. Below her, two hawks circle in wide lazy arcs, searching for prey. They call to each other mournfully, their wings tense. Somewhere a child cries – a miserable wail that not even a breast would comfort. And then the world opens up and Khatoun falls, jerking to a stop. She’s on the ground, covered in dust, heart thudding. If she runs fast enough, she knows, she’ll be able to fly again. The sun glints on her bangles as she prepares for flight. Like a well-honed athlete she stretches out her fingers, arches her back and begins to run. Faster and faster and she’s in the air, coasting low over the scrubby terrain. The sensation is exhilarating, a memory of previous flight, but before she can soar her skirt snags. The more she tugs, the more she gets enta
