Eric Maas’s Reviews > The Peregrine > Status Update

December 22nd

They seemed bored, sterile; they had no meaning […] They had no song. Their calls were harsh and ugly. But their soaring was like an endless silent singing. What else had they to do? (p. 123)

A shift in tone. Baker compares with older days and establishes things are looking bad for the peregrine: the eggless nest, foul poison burning within them like a borrowing fuse…

(December 21st)

Now their colour is like the mauve rim of a clear sky where the sun has just gone down. (p. 118)

The hawk puts out his feathers, looking cuddly and harmless. Only the armour-plated legs and the sickle toes do not relax, will never relax in life. (p. 119)

December 18th

what was left smelt fresh and sweet, like a mess of raw beef and pineapple. It was an appetizing smell, not the least bit rank or fishy. I could have eaten it myself if I had been hungry. (p. 117)

(December 17th)

(December 15th)

He fell so fast, he died so furiously from the sky to the dark wood below, that his black shape dimmed to get it, hidden in a shining cloud of speed. He drew the sky about him as he fell. It was final. It was death. There was nothing more. There could be nothing more. (p. 114)

(December 12th)

All the monstrous artefacts of man are natural, untainted things to them. All that is still is dead. All that moves, and stops, and does not move again, then very slowly dies. Movement is like colour to a hawk; it flares upon the eye like crimson flame. (p. 108)

(December 5th)