Kaja liked to climb into the attic of the old house by the river. On a July afternoon, she looked for a kite among the crates and jars. Instead she found a low box with carved scales on the lid. The skin on the back of her neck trembled as she touched the design. The lid gave way with a quiet, as if weary sigh. Inside lay a long, dark blue feather, heavier than it looked. It was warm, as if it had just been plucked from someone's wing. Next to it someone had pressed a folded piece of paper and a silver nail. The card had a short note from the grandfather: "Don't let the ash fall. The pen remembers the way." Kaja lifted the pen carefully in both hands. The dust around it moved, as if it had taken a breath. The sun through the window was drawing a bright frame on the floor. Beneath it she discovered a map drawn on the underside of the lid. There was a bridge, a mill and an eye-shaped sign by a rock. As she brought the pen closer to the map, something inside it vibrated quietly. A long draught came through the roof and smelled of smoke. A rhythm came from the distance, reminiscent of wings hitting the air. Kaja thought of a storm, but the sky was completely clear. Something heavy squatted on the tiles; the attic rustled with sawdust and dust. "Hello?" she whispered, although her heart was pounding like a hammer. The pen suddenly flashed a short streak, like a glowing coal. Lines flowed on the map, heading straight for the attic. Overhead a scraping sounded, sharp as a claw across the glass. Kaja climbed under the window and pushed back the cobwebs. A husk flashed under the glass, golden and wet from the rain, though it wasn't raining. A shadow covered the light, and a huge pupil flashed in the gap. Kaja took in a breath as the creaking glass lifted from the powerful claw.