In the last moment, the bird swerved away to the right. It soared high, wheeled in a circle, and dove again. This time, it pulled itself directly upward. Gold plumes flashed as it rose, wings churning as it turned.
As the morning progresses I become less interested in where Zirrer had lived, and more interested in what brought him here to begin with. Why, I wonder, does a man choose to opt out of the world?