As the plane slowly began to stabilize, the red-haired child cast a furtive glance to the left.

Her mother, a beautiful woman with straight shoulder-length black hair, was still reading the fashion magazine she had found in the pocket of the front seat, while the aisle next to her, like the seats on the other side, appeared as deserted as it had been for the past twenty-five minutes.

Then again, one should have been surprised otherwise. The warning lights, which signaled the requirement to keep the belts fastened, continued to remain stubbornly lit.

Unable to restrain himself any longer, the boy slowly rotated his body toward the darkened window, and trying not to be noticed, he slipped his hand into the pocket of his sweatshirt, from which he extracted the Smartphone stored inside. He was now on the verge of pressing the power button, when a hand suddenly clasped around his wrist, jolting him.

His mother had stopped reading the magazine and was glowering at him.

''You can't, Mirko,'' she ordered decisively, snatching the cell phone from his hand.

"Why not?!" blurted out the child indignantly.

''You just can't,'' she cut it short.

Mirko made an offended face with glazed eyes, at the sight of which his mother seemed to soften.

''Wait a few more minutes, come on,'' she told him fondly, stroking his cheek. ''You're not going to die,''

In response Mirko huffed impatiently, and crossing his arms with a more rancorous air than ever, he turned his back on her, turning in the direction of the window

His mother rolled her eyes and resumed flipping through the magazine, while in the meantime he cast one last hopeful glance toward the panel with the lights and air-conditioning vent.

He was disappointed. The seatbelt indicator light was still on.

In boredom Mirko then decided to distract himself by looking outside the window, but having forgotten the curtain was down, he had to pull it up first to do so.

The sun had been setting beyond the horizon line for at least an hour, and although no stars were visible in the evening sky, the panorama of the illuminated city below them still provided a pleasant view. However, it was not the landscape that attracted his attention.

Because of the darkness only partially mitigated by the spotlights and lights of the plane, it was certainly not possible to catch a glimpse of him down to the smallest detail, but what Mirko saw was more than enough to make his eyes widen in amazement.

About twenty meters away from him, a boy sat on the wing of the plane, admiring the surrounding view with an air of curiosity. From the nonchalant way he swung his legs into the void while holding onto the edge with his hands only, Mirko was reminded of a child his age on a leisurely paddleboat ride.

Too shocked to react other than staring in amazement at the scene with his mouth wide open, the little boy continued to look out the window until, just seconds after he had lifted the curtain, the boy outside turned his head toward the fuselage.

Since it was a night flight, and on a very uncrowded route to boot, the plane was practically deserted, so there was nothing surprising about the fact that the mysterious traveler turned his gaze right back to him. However, this equally did not prevent the young boy from becoming paralyzed with shock, which became even more intense the moment the stranger addressed him with a polite hand salute.

Mirko let out a scream.

''Goodness, what's going on!" exploded his mother, slamming the magazine down on her legs. ''Will you knock it off with this smart phone!''

Ignoring the rant, Mirko grabbed her by the arm and began to shake her fiercely.

"Mom, please look! She pointed with her hand out the window without stopping holding it tightly with the other. ''There's someone! There's someone on the wing!

She peered at him without understanding, but after a few moments her expression turned sour.

''Don't talk nonsense!" he blurted, releasing himself from her grip with a shake.

''I swear it's true!" insisted Mirko, grabbing her arm again. ''Come on, look!''

Although she was obviously impatient, the woman gave a deep sigh and complied with the request by leaning out the window.

''Sure, there it is,'' he commented, spurting sarcasm. ''Really incredible.''

Mirko was dismayed.

''What the...''

His mother recoiled and he immediately brought his face closer to the glass, but although he was firmly convinced otherwise, in the end he could do nothing but take note of reality. On the wing, no one could be seen at all. The mysterious boy had disappeared.

Suspended more than ten thousand meters above the ground, Alessandro continued to follow with his eyes the silhouette of the plane moving away at very high speed until he saw it disappear amidst a cloud bank. With its wings flapping on its back at regular intervals, and the moonlight reflected above its silvery scales, he felt more elated than a child on Christmas Day.

After all, having the opportunity to hurtle through the sky in the guise of a two-meter dragon represented an experience far beyond anyone's dreams. Something that if it had been predicted to him only a month earlier, he would not have hesitated a single moment to call the author of such a folly crazy.

It had taken him a couple of days, as well as an endless number of attempts, before he got used to using muscles he had never had before, and two more to master the technique needed to take advantage of air currents, but by now he was able to reach even the highest altitudes without problems.

All it took was a leap, a change of shape in mid-air, and in just under a minute he was thundering through the clouds impersonating a wide variety of creatures. From pigeons, to hawks, from eagles, to wyverns. Of course, he could not afford to fly at low altitude after assuming the appearance of imaginary animals, so he always tried to get very high when he felt like trying such an experience.

Initially he had feared that the extremely rigid temperatures prevailing at certain altitudes would not allow him to go beyond a certain threshold, however, from this point of view, altitude did not prove to be a problem. In fact, for some inexplicable reason, he seemed to have become completely incapable of feeling cold or heat, even in their most extreme manifestations such as the frost of the freezer or the flames of the gas stove, as if a mysterious cosmic entity had dictated that the air around him should be kept constantly in the twenty-five-degree range.

His entire existence, from the moment he woke up until he lay down under the covers, was always accompanied by a very pleasant warmth, which apparently nothing seemed able to shake.

Being able to rely on this fantastic ability, immediately after leaving school he had then flown carefree through that breathtaking landscape for most of the afternoon, thoroughly enjoying the incredible sense of freedom that only such an experience was capable of inspiring.

The encounter with the airliner and the discovery that he was nimbly able to hold his own had been nothing more than the last act of a virtually perfect afternoon, the like of which he had great difficulty remembering.

Or at least, it might have been if it weren't for the overwhelming sense of hunger that he was carrying around, and which had begun to become dangerously uncomfortable for a few hours. Miracles aside, a couple more days like this and he would end up losing his mind like the previous time.

What would he have done at that point?

Participate in other clandestine competitions? No, it was to be ruled out.

Getting a job on the weekend?

Sure, it seemed obvious, but even leaving aside the fact that his only experience in this regard was helping Dad in the store during summer vacation, even in the event that he managed to get hired at an ice cream parlor that very day, he would still receive his first paycheck in a month's time. And he couldn't wait that long, not even close.

Stealing, then? Entering a superMarcoet after closing time, then eating everything he could get his hands on.

It was simple. It was easy.

No, that never.

But then how on earth could he get food!

After their last surreal conversation, his mother had made a habit of preparing huge bowls of vegetable puree for him as a snack, accompanying it with equally generous portions of bread. However, as infinitely grateful as Alessandro was to her for those acts of kindness, they did no more to solve the problem than a teaspoon grappling with a bathtub full to the brim would have done.

Whether he wanted it or not, self-control or not, the truth was that food was not enough for him. It was never enough. And the more time passed, the worse he would feel. In fact, even thinking about it made him sick.

Having come to the conclusion that standing still in midair and brooding over it would not help him, he decided to start the long descent to the ground and return home. After all, it would soon be dinner time, and Elisa had cooked one of his favorite dishes: tortiglioni broccoli and gorgonzola. With the image of the steaming dish imprinted in his mind Alessandro gave a mighty flap of his wings, and once he reversed course, he prepared to locate the best area in which to land.

It was enough for him to cross the cloud layer below to realize that something was wrong. Villanuova sul Lambro, in fact, did not stand on the shores of a huge lake in the shape of an inverted tomahawk. Alessandro did not need to reflect to realize where it was, for he recognized it instantly.

That was Lake Garda.

Without even realizing it, he had ended up more than a hundred kilometers away from his hometown. But how freaking fast was he? He could probably consider himself lucky not to have landed in France. Well, if nothing else, the return trip would have been just as short.

In any case, if he did not want to risk being discovered, before turning back it was convenient for him to climb back up past the cloud layer, or alternatively change his form to something less conspicuous. In the end he decided to opt for the latter. At least this way he would avoid making a mistake again by overshooting the goal.

He was still uncertain which species to target when a small dark spot below him caught his attention. Given the distance he could not distinguish it well enough to recognize it, but it was definitely a predatory bird. Perhaps an eagle owl. His very poor ornithological skills prevented him from hazarding a more accurate guess. That it was a nocturnal raptor, however, was beyond doubt.

Suddenly there was a bizarre flicker, and the air around him seemed to become as thick as the clear liquid inside a snow globe. The thoughts in Alessandro's head began to swirl in confusion, while a dumb grin made its way across his face. It almost seemed as if someone was tickling his brain.

Owl.

Owls were birds.

So were the chickens.

He liked chicken.

The chicken was meat.

Meat was food.

The owl was...

Alessandro's mind was clouded by a strange fog.

When he regained lucidity he was swooping down holding his wings tight to his sinuous body, a silvery sliver slicing through the air with the speed of a bullet. In spite of the precautions promised, it had not changed shape. At that moment he did not seem to care whether he was recognized or not. The only thing that really mattered was to reach the goal as soon as possible.

Meanwhile, the great owl continued to glide placidly above the lake waters, totally unaware of the impending danger. To bridge the several thousand meters that separated them had not needed to wait more than a handful of seconds. A few more moments and it would have swooped down on him.

Anticipating the moment Alessandro parted his scaly lips, thus displaying the rows of deadly fangs concealed below, long and sharp as daggers.

There, now it was almost there. Speckled plumage, wide wingspan, quiet bearing. His prey was there, just a stone's throw away. Alessandro opened his jaws wide.

What the hell am I doing?

Coming to his senses as if from a trance Alessandro unfolded his silver wings, which inflated as efficiently as a parachute and ended the dive.

Thrown back by the force of the updraft, the dragon was then lifted high, very high, away from the owl he had been about to swallow, and who now, completely unaware that he had just escaped death, was gliding silently toward the ground, a tiny dark spot silhouetted against the blue of the lake bathed in half-light.

Meanwhile, as the buoyancy of the air was slowly depleting, Alessandro stared at the raptor as it moved away undisturbed and blinked.

What had happened? Why had he done it?

How could he have lost control to that extent? Was hunger really reducing him to this?

A big mindless owl-devouring beast?

If he was already in danger of pouncing on the first passing animal, what would happen in two, three, or five days?

With his head crowded with the echoes of these and a thousand other questions, Alessandro assumed the form of a goshawk and made his way back home.