Everything in our vicinity was moving skyward. Except for one solitary star which shot downward, like a fallen angelic body.
It was a brilliant night, peopled with heavenly glitterings. The milky way itself seemed to glow with new birthings. We could only gaze, in wonder at what was visible, and at what that meant.
It meant, for one thing that we could literally pick and choose our next planetary home, somewhere out there, and be reasonably certain that it would sustain us.
There were millions of trillions of stars. Beyond human imagining. And they were all alive with light.
We felt fortunate, blessed somehow, with the ability to just lift a finger and touch the next world, which would belong to the human race.
And touch we did. All the way to Sirius, the stupendous dog. He welcomed us, and we settled on him like fleas. We inhabited him with renewed vigour.
Since then, we are known as the people of the Dog. We are the "Hounds of Heaven" who are touched by the gods, just a little bit.
We run in large packs, and we defend what is ours. We hunt together, and survive only as a wild band of brothers. This will be our story.
Writing by Regina Stemberger