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The wind pulled hard as Targ climbed higher. The back draft from the cliff face ruffled his wing feathers, pulling each back against their pattern. This lifting was letting in the cold fingers of the Ice Queen.

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The wind pulled hard as Targ climbed higher. The back draft from the cliff face ruffled his wing feathers, pulling each back against their pattern. This lifting was letting in the cold fingers of the Ice Queen. Allowing her to touch his white soft skin, as he fought for stability. It was cold, so cold, even the droplets of water in his eyes were like grit, as they turned to ice. Yet again, he blinked his inner eyelids. The pain of the crystals scored the gentleness of his mind, again reminding him this was not the weather for flying the high crags of Snowdon. "She must be somewhere, she has to be!" He said it to himself, for the thousandth time. A desperate and heavy fear gripped his heart tighter with each breath he took. Oh, how he wished for the thermals of summer. He remembered how in the blue gentle skies this climb would be effortless. Frantically beating his wings constantly he managed to hold height. However, stability was more difficult as the peak of the storm approached. It lashed against the mountains to the west, with razor sharp frozen raindrops scouring the rocks. From this rain came the water for the streams, which when joined by a more fearsome force, 'time', was eating away the rocks in the valley far below him. ...read more.


It was not what to do, but how to survive long enough to do anything in this maelstrom. The solid breaker of wind rushed at him over the ridge, from the hidden side of Cwm Brwynog. It struck him, just as he neared the top of his climb. At the most critical moment, as he prepared to land, there was a terrible pain, which shot across the right side of his breast muscle. Suddenly his wing went limp, powerless. At this speed it meant certain death, he knew that. After all, had his father not told him when he was a fledgling, this was the most dangerous and fateful of accidents that could befall an Eagle. Targ fell from the sky! Dashed like drifting seaweed, carried in an ocean breaker against the cliffs, the eagle struck the rocks.. Only here in this mountain maelstrom, it was an eagle that would have been crashing against the shoreline off Bardsey Island in a winter storm. Targ crashed against the wet shinning black cliff face, but a stones throw from the lip of the ridge. The Ice Queen watched in delight as Targ fell. There was almost a strange laughter within the scream of the wind. Feathers, wings, legs and claws, tumbled between the rocks. Then suddenly there was peace in his mind. ...read more.


It seemed as if they stood out like 'day-glow' sirens of the pollution and ravages of human kind against this beautiful green carpet of nature. Targ looked away into the distance, as only eagles can do, and saw the far off towns and cities, the smoke haze of dirty polluted urban air. Above him white cotton-wool clouds, set in the highest of blue sky, drifted on a zephyr of summer wind within his dream of peace. As he watched, gently these clouds swirled towards the mountains from the western ocean. Then there were the sounds. The noise, the screech, startled Targ. In his dazed state he realised it was the call of Sanna. Far off, distant, he could hear her cry, "Targ - Targ?" Suddenly, he awoke opening his eyes. The dizziness had gone, it was a moon-glowed night, with the sort of cold white light of mid-winter in the mountains that brings fear to beast and man exposed to the anger of the elements.. Again he heard the cry. In the darkness of the grey light below, "Targ, Targ!" His soul filled with hope and joy. Yes, it was Sanna, it was! With all the energy he could gather a feeble cry escaped from his beak - "Sanna - Sanna!" In the stillness, the blackness of the valley below, he heard his own shaken, exhausted cry echo in desperate return towards him. No, he had imagined. Her cry had been but a dream. ...read more.

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