WILD LIFE ON THE WING 
fluttered and jostled. " Fox ! fox ! " gabbled 
a frantic blackbird, and the retreat of the 
marauder was marked by a fresh hurricane of 
wings. In his bewilderment, Shacaim forgot 
the geography of the branches. He felt the 
buzz of the rising starling 
hordes their battalions 
outflanked him on either 
side, and the draught of 
their turning sucked him 
down. He slanted thirty 
miles an hour towards the 
road beneath him. There 
was a twang as some unwary 
starling blundered against 
the telegraph wires Shacaim had forgotten 
them, but it was too late to turn he struck 
them fairly, with a crash then whirling over 
and over, a limp wisp of feathers, fell into the 
road. 
II 
The mild dawn broke in rain, and drops from 
the trees overhead splashed into puddles in the 
road. Shacaim crouched under a grass tuft by 
the hedge. His heart beat like a piston, and 
his bill gaped. He was desperately afraid. 
He saw the glimmer of the " false dawn " melt 
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