halftwo
Wird Batcher
The guttering wind slams and falls, gathers itself and rises above the cold sun-blasted land to stall. It is unpredictable, fickle and strong.
The Peregrines slide high, sailing, riding, slicing the gouts of rushing air and ease through the blow, approaching separately, one high, one against the ground and swerving below his cruising mate.
She like a bomb. Heavy but buoyant, scanning ahead. He curves around her, fast and accelerating, using the edges of the edgy wind. He rises, reaches his height and skims a curve down to her line.
Somewhere their first egg has been laid. For now they are roaming with the wind. He can sport before the season's work really begins, she can glide free from the nest. The fastest air is theirs.
He flicks his wings and at once he takes the wind to the west: a speck. She follows at a glide, using the currents and her weight, her moment and too dissolves into the setting sun.
The Peregrines slide high, sailing, riding, slicing the gouts of rushing air and ease through the blow, approaching separately, one high, one against the ground and swerving below his cruising mate.
She like a bomb. Heavy but buoyant, scanning ahead. He curves around her, fast and accelerating, using the edges of the edgy wind. He rises, reaches his height and skims a curve down to her line.
Somewhere their first egg has been laid. For now they are roaming with the wind. He can sport before the season's work really begins, she can glide free from the nest. The fastest air is theirs.
He flicks his wings and at once he takes the wind to the west: a speck. She follows at a glide, using the currents and her weight, her moment and too dissolves into the setting sun.
