I see the eagles from where I live, way up in the Himalayan mountains. Every sunrise they are there, swooping down before soaring back up and then speedily diving back down. The are all beautiful, but the moment I saw one of them I felt a connection, a bond between us somehow. The one I liked was smaller than the others, it looked a bit like he got pushed around and picked on a bit, always having to go at the back of the line when the pack made a formation in the sky. I have been watching this eagle for weeks now. I decided on a name that suited him. Best Bud. It is a bit original, but it goes well.
I was in my room the time it happened. Reading chapter five of my favourite book. Best Bud flew straight through the open window and hid the wall on the far side of my room. I quickly slipped in my bookmark into the thin, smooth page and ran to him. He was led on his side, making a wheezing sound.
I called out to my mum. She is actually a bird breeder, so she’s the perfect one to call. Mum came running up the stairs with and apron on and oven gloves on her bony, strong hands. She pulled the gloves off and steadily crouched down beside Best Bud. Gently, she picked him up in her cupped hands. I got told by her to cup him in my hands while she went to get some liquidised food. He was now chirping and squawking softly. Mum came back in my room and fed the little eagle some yellow liquid through a syringe. Immediately he perked up a bit. He started flapping his short wings. His pack were now waiting impatiently. Best bud built up some strength and went back to his nest on the high mountain tip.