He used to tell me stories of the eagles and hawks that would come rescue us from our prison. And I believed him.

As I got older, that faith dissipated. But with it, a new hope grew.

We started building wings. Made them out of wood, but it was too heavy.

We tried metal, but that was way too heavy.

Then one day, the very eagle I had daydreamed about dropped a feather. It landed next to the one wax candle we had.

And idea was born.

(I realize that not how the myth goes. I wanted to play around will a few things.