The birds of the planet Earth around 55,100 BCE were much the same as the birds of today. That is, they had wings, beaks and claws. Millions of years earlier, huge birds with sharp tooth-like projections within their bills existed, but these had long since disappeared, having made way for more modern species.

Most of these modern birds could fly, and those that couldn’t tended to be large, and very capable runners too. A big ground dwelling bird could easily outrun a Lion, and scare the wits out of it too, with the flapping of its wings and squawking. But if a Lion took one by surprise, then there was no contest.

The birds of the air, on the other hand, had the distinct advantage of flight, so their risk of being eaten by Lions was less, but their lives were not safe by any means. Lions and other smaller cats, all lightning fast, would stalk them as they grazed on the ground. Cats were proficient tree climbers too. They were the peril of the bird world, except for those birds that had their nests high in the tree tops, or on cliff faces, for all cats were reluctant to climb too high.

The largest bird at that time was the Carron. It was a dark brown bird with a white head and a yellow, eagle-like beak. It grew to have a wingspan of over five meters. Smaller animals, even cats, feared this great bird, for it would appear from nowhere, swooping down and snatching young cubs with its huge talons, flying off leaving mothers feeling frightened and bewildered, crying out loudly in despair for their little ones who would never be seen again. But if an adult cat was quick, and the cubs close, the adult could often swipe a Carron right out of the air, and in a feathery flurry of screaming, wing-flapping and cub yelping, the Carron would be torn to pieces, much to the pleasure of any four legged on-looker, for they all hated and feared the Carron. It was a Carron that Tijah had seen on his last foraging expedition.

But the Carron was just one of many hundreds of bird species which enjoyed planet Earth in these times. Looking up, the sky would often be filled with hundreds of thousands of birds at any moment, all going about their daily lives and unwittingly spreading pre-fertilized seeds as they defecated even mid flight, so that the density and variety of plants on the ground was more than sufficient to sustain the myriad of other living things.

It would be at least another ten thousand years before the planet would enter a new ice age, and much of this foliage in all its splendor would disappear, bringing unthinkable pain and suffering to the billions of creatures who depended on it, and who were so perfect, so innocent. Mother Nature would show no compassion in her own quest for perfection and sustenance. 

For the time being though, and probably for thousands of years to come, this place Earth worked perfectly. It was in many ways the sort of place that Karonia would become within the next thousand or so years, after she had been left to her own devices, long after all Karonians were extinct, buried and fossilized, waiting for some future team of archeologists to dig up and catalog.

To an observer considering both Earth and Koronia, it was as though the universe itself was setting up prospective homes for travelers, having set up these two planets, and perhaps hundreds of other so-far undiscovered planets scattered light years apart, all waiting for ship-loads of refugees to inhabit them. They were all nests in the stars, all part of a meticulous universal survival plan, as though the universe knew that if even one species of living thing survived, then it too would survive, for that species would logically need a universe in which to reside. Also logically, if there was nothing or no-one to observe it, then the universe itself would effectively not exist, and the universe somehow seemed to know this.          

As though consciously preparing itself for intelligent life, planet Earth continued to groom itself, planting seeds, establishing massive rivers and lakes, fine tuning its own climate, and generally striving for equilibrium.

For the birds, the job was two-fold. Control the insect population, and at the same time, spread the seeds of plant life so that there was always an ample supply of vegetation and oxygen for life to exist.

Many birds, like Kitra, lived on or around the inland lakes. Kitra was just one of millions of such birds, and he spent most of his time competing with others like him for food in and on the water. He was white and brown, with a duck-like bill and webbed feet. He was not a duck, for there were none on Earth yet, and he was much larger than any future duck would ever be. With powerful long legs for swimming, and good long wings for speedy flight, he was a very capable bird. He could also defend himself using needle sharp spurs which protruded backwards from his ankles, and these could produce a nasty slice, even through fur covered skin. As well, inside his bill were two equally sharp fangs, which were sufficiently venomous to stun any would-be attacker, temporarily stilling them so that Kitra could make his escape. So Kitra was indeed a formidable opponent in a fight with other birds or even land animals.

Kitra had a family too. He was husband to Zila, whom he loved greatly, and he was the proud father of six chicks, none of whom he quite understood, other than that they constantly wanted food. So, while Zila stayed home and protected the chicks and their little nest, hidden in branches on the edge of the lake, Kitra was charged with the responsibility of gathering food.

Zila could slip away briefly from her chicks and catch food close to home, but she would always have one eye on her chicks. At the end of each day, between Kitra and Zila, the whole family would be content with the food they had, and they could snuggle up together in their nest, happy and warm, hidden from predators and therefore hopefully safe.

If it were possible to view Kitra’s vast lake from the air, it would have been nearly half covered with hundreds of species of water birds, and half of those would be airborne, moving from one part of the lake to another. It would have been an amazing array of color, movement, and if you were close enough, sound, as entire flocks took to the air and moved through it in unison, and then they would all change direction simultaneously as if they were controlled by some silent and remote command. 

With their flapping wings, their squealing and squawking and splashing, the noise made by this enormous number of birds could be heard from many miles off, and this gave great comfort to the many animals who had endured a long day’s walk under the sun, for they knew they were within reach of life saving water. Because there were so many birds here, all busily going about their business, it would have gone virtually un-noticed if some had simply disappeared. In fact, each bird was so focused on its own tasks that none would be aware of anything dramatic happening around them, even if it was fairly close by. The sound of splashing water was a normal sound, and an excellent camouflage for predators lurking in or around the water. Even if a hundred birds were taken, not one other bird would have noticed.

In the long grass that was born of the efforts of these birds, there was a huge snake named Youla. He had lived here for many years, and had grown so large that a had a full grown man, if there had been one, stood beside him, Youla’s girth would have reached up to his pelvis. Youla was fully twenty meters long and could have easily swallowed a young deer. In fact he often did, as well as other animals such as pigs, goats and even small buffalo. As big as he was, Youla could move quickly on land, and he was also a proficient swimmer. For this reason he chose to live in a grassy, swampy area within easy reach of a large river.

It was a time when the planet was especially warm. Where Youla lived, the mean temperature in a year was forty six degrees celsius. Because Youla couldn’t regulate his own body temperature, his size was largely dictated by the climate he lived in, so snakes that lived in the cooler parts of the planet were correspondingly smaller.

If you were a land animal living close to the swamp, your mind was impregnated with a fear of snakes like Youla, and you were therefore naturally an anxious animal. You had perfect eyesight and finely tuned hearing, but even so, every step you took was a lucky one, for it could be your last. At night you would leave the long grass and sleep in the open fields, or underground, because you had no hope of escape if Youla found you in the dark while you slept. In daylight, at least you could see or hear him coming if you were wary enough, but if you were distracted or pre-occupied, you were most likely to contribute to Youla’s girth.

For the birds that lived here though, the chances of being taken were very slim, so none really dreaded Youla as the land animals did. It was far more likely that a bird here would die of old age than die a violent death. Even so, Youla would often sneak up on water birds that swam about looking for food. Some of them would duck down into the water, hoping to find some tasty morsel, only to find that they themselves had become the meal. Youla would be waiting below, taking them in one gulp, and they would hardly have time to even cry out before they were crushed in his giant jaws.