Eric Maas’s Reviews > The Peregrine > Status Update
Eric Maas
is on page 102 of 256
November 30th
Unconsciously I was imitating the movements of a hawk, as in some primitive ritual; the hunter becoming the thing he hunts. (p. 102)
— Oct 17, 2026 04:45AM
Unconsciously I was imitating the movements of a hawk, as in some primitive ritual; the hunter becoming the thing he hunts. (p. 102)
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Eric Maas
is on page 123 of 256
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…
— 5 hours, 28 min ago
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…
Eric Maas
is on page 119 of 256
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)
— Oct 18, 2026 06:07AM
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)
Eric Maas
is on page 117 of 256
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)
— Oct 18, 2026 05:32AM
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)
Eric Maas
is on page 114 of 256
(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)
— Oct 18, 2026 04:46AM
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)
Eric Maas
is on page 108 of 256
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)
— Oct 18, 2026 03:29AM