Summer on the hill

Hawk was keeping as still as he could. The warm air-currents were pushing him up and up above the green hill. His prey was bouncing about restlessly, as if out of place amongst the hoards of larger animals laying around motionless on the warm grass. It was hot. Much hotter than usual in his part of the world. And humid.

He found it difficult to concentrate. Too many potential targets. Still, he focused. Preparing his strike. His prey stopped. Not a moment to waste. Hawk folded his wings under him and started falling like a rock from the sky. The warm winds made it difficult to judge, but just at the right moment he opened up his wings like a parachute, threw his taloned-feet forward and sunk them into the warm flesh. His prey was struggling but Hawk struck his wings as hard as he could rising higher and higher above the hill into the quite sky.

Down below, on the hill, things were less serene. Moochie's squeaks woke Miranda up. When she saw her Chihuahua in Hawk's claws she fainted.

Summer on Primrose Hill.

PS 435km down. 465km to go.