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.

