home
***
CD-ROM
|
disk
|
FTP
|
other
***
search
/
Hacker Chronicles 2
/
HACKER2.BIN
/
615.FIC4
< prev
next >
Wrap
Text File
|
1993-08-29
|
11KB
|
221 lines
Robin and The Eagle
Copyright (c) 1993, Wm. Whitney
All rights reserved
Robin and The Eagle
From
The Tap Root Conspiracy
Wm. Whitney
For
Heather
Author's Note: There is only one living, air-breathing species on Gais
capable of attaining a lifespan as long as an Aeon - the Grandfather
Teller Trees, commonly known as first growth. "Robin and The Eagle" was
originally inspired during a nap under an 800 year old black oak which
still stands in Sherwood Forest. It is from the soon to be published
collection called "The Tap Root Conspiracy". It is indeed sad as we
approach this "new aeon" that this species numbers less than five percent
(5%) of the population it had at the beginning of the present aeon.
+++++++++++++
Robin sat fancy free deep in Sher's woods under a great black oak,
comfy before the open hearth, the merry gentry of the forest rowdy with
odes and poems of fore play. The air crackled with moments of glory and
oral histories of the greatest lodges and moments now untouchable through
time.
He stirred from Marion's warmth and bodily quickenings sycophant with
the tale weaver's lilt, his gaze now captured in the firelight's fantasy
of imagery. Something had captured his visionary's eye; his lessons in the
art of scrying had given him many a moment to pause reflectively when his
"sight" hastened his feelings with foretellings of future wonders. As his
mentor had taught, he began to concentrate on the fire's rapture.
Images crashed against each other in a montage of forest hues twinkled
with fairy dust before coalescing into a viewpoint deep in a highland
meadow.
The Raven hen shivered ever so slightly at the unusual May snow freshly
fallen on her outstretched feathers struggling to shield her fledgling
brood. Her eyes darted nervously across the rare beauty of the spring
colors now daunted from their peacock and rainbow hues with the purity of
the white burden which threatened their tender stems.
Mother Raven didn't have time to listen to the flower's plaints. Her
attention was riveted to two things: the safety her covering warmth
brought the chicks and the sighting of her tardy mate carrying a long
overdue repast for the wriggling screeches muted by her protective wings.
No time now to concern herself with her own rapidly depleting bodily
resources. Her mate hunted still in meadows further down the great
mountain's side.
Perhaps it was the quickening of the strange, cold May wind.....,
perhaps it was an instinct to spread her wings further to keep out stray
drafts...., perhaps it was the faint shadow which flitted across her
peripheral vision....
She shuddered her wings once more.
From Robin's point-of-view, this tiniest of movements would have gone
unnoticed except it was amplified by one much higher, arcing with much
greater magnitude and import. As his right eye mirrored a tiny reflection
of the hen's movement, his left screamed to his attention.
A great falcon soared with determined scrutiny high over the meadow in
hiding.
"A day for eagles!", Grandfather Black Oak smiled reliving the story to
Robin's sight from deep within the crystalline matrix woven amongst the
resins of his tap roots.
The falcon's dark plumage had yet to warm in the summer's interrupted
rays; his belly empty from the snow's protective cover as he sailed
effortlessly in the cold updrafts turned chaotic with winter's last gasp.
Robin flinched knowingly at the import of the fire's tale; two species
locked in Darwinian metaphor which normally led to death in the more
vulnerable.
The hen's brood grew restless once more struggling in their hunger to
break the boundaries of her nest. She clucked to their impatience rustling
again to calm them. But their growing biological clocks chimed a time to
fly and test their wings, not to huddle infant-like in the confines of
their birthing place.
Every brood has its Friar Tuck, its boisterous one filled with a quest
for adventure and discovery not to mention an unquenchable hunger
motivating its bravery. They had already discovered the rich abundance of
Spring tidbits surrounding their opulent environs. Little Tuck broke
through his mother's restraint with a plaintive cry of frustration.
The hawk's casual spiral turned abruptly toward the sound. His eye
sharpened focus to catch the slightest stirring in the blinding white
carpet below. He slowed, descending.....
Slap! Mother hen's wing shoved the offending oaf deeper into the bowels
of the nest's safety. A sharp peck on the noggin gave reinforcement to
cease and desist disturbing the morning's unnatural calm.
But, her discipline came too late, for the hawk's acute vision had
already targeted his morning's repast. Ascending once again, he maneuvered
closer keeping the morning sun at his back to shield him from the mother's
view. It would be only a short time now before he would be in position for
the fatal dive.
"Look higher, my brother!" Grandfather Black Oak admonished. "Do not be
confused by the drama of the moment."
Robin shifted his focus in the fire's light as Marion stirred briefly
at his side. The camp had quietened as the mead took its effect.
The white shape contrasted sharply with the deep blue of the mountain
sky. Much loftier than the hungry Hawk, the snow eagle glided omnisciently
through the chilled air its feathers still untarnished from the shifting
spring sun.
And, yet a third set of wings beat furiously on the morning air....
Father Raven hastened to his waiting duties knowing impatience is often
not a virtue. Steadily he climbed from the lower valley; his claws full of
morsels for the waiting brood.
Having settled Tuck's impatience, Mother Raven turned her attention
once again to the heavens. In an instant, she knew the import of the
impending danger.
"Caw! Caw!", she screeched hoping against hope to ward off the
intruder.
But aeons of conditioning had taught the Hawk that she would not leave
her brood. He began his dive with talons stretched forward for the kill.
By now the full drama had unfolded before three pairs of observing
eyes. Robin and the Eagle watched dispassionately while Father Raven's
heart fluttered at the threat unfolding before him. Suddenly, the aching
tiredness of his long journey was no more.
Spirit moves in many ways. The warming currents caught beneath him as
he dropped his morning's kill for greater speed.
"Caw! Caw! Caw!" came his echoing challenge.
Perhaps Hawk was attracted by the sport now offered, perhaps it was
just his anger at the interruption, or perhaps it was his natural
intuition that something greater was afoot that May morning.
Wheeling to better confront his adversary, Hawk inwardly chuckled at
the Raven's audacity. Wings beating he strove to gain altitude and
advantage confident in his inherent lineage and supremacy.
"Screeeeeee..." he whistled accepting the Raven's challenge.
But Father Raven righteously held the onrushing wind and dove toward
first strike. And a mighty blow it was indeed catching Hawk in the left
thigh sending both atilt into momentary spirals. Blooded now, he strove to
regain lost height.
The Hawk's greater span of wings worked to the advantage however as he
outpaced his smaller adversary. The hit had shaken his complacency and
evoked the screaming rage indigenous to the kill now before him. He would
have a double bounty this Spring morning!
Now Robin and the Eagle had not missed a millisecond of the unfolding
drama. Nor had it left either unmoved.
Turning now, Hawk sought to take advantage of Raven's struggle upwards.
The few feet separating them gave his greater bulk a glancing impact as
the two came together once again.
Raven's feathers so violently separated from his right wing, drifted
slowly earthward leaving him with an even greater handicap. But, he now
held altitude over the recovering Hawk.
"Caw! Caw! Caw!", his desparate insolence sought to maintain the Hawk's
distraction from the vulnerable nest.
Once again he flew into the face of his would-be-slayer striking the
tail feathers with minimum impact.
"The tide has turned!", Grandfather Black Oak intoned ominously.
Robin's breast tightened involuntarily as he unknowingly clasp Marion
to him.
Something must have caught within the Eagle's breast as well. Perhaps
it was the memory of his own fledglings waiting on the mountain's crest.
Perhaps it was the nobility of the mid-morning Eastern Sun now warming the
snows below.
For the Eagle turned beginning a silent, decisive downward plunge to
settle the Darwinian outcome of the vision's drama.
Normally, it should not have mattered which prey Eagle returned to his
mate and brood. But that something which had stirred his heart must have
determined his target.
As the two adversaries wheeled for the final encounter, neither
detected the great white bird descending above. But Spirit spoke to Mother
Raven's watching horror and calmed her to a silent prayer.
The Hawk's hunger driven mind never felt the back-breaking blow.
Knowing the encounter was over and the god hunger was fulfilled, Raven
turned thankfully to retrieve his family's repast.
Grandfather Black Oak stirred briefly in the pre-dawn breeze with smoke
from the night's fire wafting gently amongst his branches. The sleeping
forms nestled in his tap roots rested easily now.
An armor clad figure stepped out from the forest's seclusion. His
confident glance missed nary a slumbering body as he strode to the still
warm kettle to sate the hunger of his travels.
For the Lion had come to lay down with the Lamb much as the Eagle
joined forces with the Raven that night. And, Richard of the Great Heart
had come home to England once more.