The eagle and the hunter
It was not so long ago that bald eagles were hunted, yet the tradition had stretched back centuries. This myth comes from imagination, yet I wonder if it had the slightest gleam of truth. I can only believe.
When bald eagles were hunted, only their snow-white head gave them away to the hunters prowling restlessly on the ground below them, armed with bows, arrows and a sense of alertness ever in the air.
In an unbelievable stroke of luck, one tiny eaglet's head was not white, but brown, the same dark hue as it's wings and body. Once he was old enough to fly, he flapped his wings and took off into the endless stretch of sky. He felt warm currents of air billowing up under his wings as he felt the incredible, glorious feeling of flight coursing through him. He glanced down at the ground miles away, and his wings almost froze mid-flight.
A hunter was starting up right at him.
He had heard about these strange creatures, stories told to him. There would be a whooshing sound and in seconds a sharp stick called an arrow would be protruding from his side, and he would spiral down, down, down, plummeting out of the crystal sky and crash to the earth. He would shudder in pain, lying there helplessly as the creature approached, and it would be over.
He looked down at the hunter, waiting for that dreadful moment.
And the hunter turned and walked away.
All the other watching eagles knew why.
So they swooped upon the young eagle, tearing madly at his feathers, ripping them out with a fury. Talons full with his precious plumage, they covered their white heads with them, disguising themselves as not birds to be hunted but as innocents.
Without his feathers, the bird started falling to the ground. He closed his eyes, and it was just like the stories, except he had no deadly arrows protruding from his side. He had the even deadlier earth below him, and he waited for the bone-crunching impact...
And the hunter caught him. "What a strange bird," he remarked. "Not a feather anywhere!" He stared down at the eagle, and a feeling of pity swept over him. He gently laid the eagle in a blanket and started for home.
Now, the all-too-confident eagles who had torn out his plumage started to soar overhead, thinking, "The hunter will never know it's us."
However, a slight gust of wind picked up, and it grew in strength. It roared towards the cocky eagles in the sky and their brown feathers that once covered their white heads fluttered to the ground. The hunter glanced up at the sky and saw the eagles now truly exposed. He nocked an arrow.
Never try to be someone else-- it might backfire fast.
Myth by ZoeT
©2017