fear—now and again uttering a despairing battle-cry—flew about among its deadly enemies. Already it showed signs of having been attacked, as some of its feathers dropped through the air.
I implored Erik to save it.
He bent down, picked a sharp flint from the ground, and flung it. The owl flapped his wings a few times, then folding them fell heavily to the ground only a few yards from us. For a moment the rooks became silent. Then they started again, first singly, as though they were asking astonished questions, then in threatening, furious chorus directed to us. And when Erik lifted the dead owl up and we went away with it, the entire army of angry rooks whose prey we had seized followed us with their hoarse, revengeful shrieks. By throwing stones, clapping our hands and shouting, we sometimes succeeded in stopping them for a while. But soon after, they commenced again with renewed strength; they flew nearer and nearer, lower and lower, and at last I was so beside myself with terror that I ran along as fast as my legs could carry me, and Erik, who became infected with my fear, followed me.
But ever since then my heart always beats when I come near the old rook tree.
Even yesterday, when I stood under its branches, I fancied I heard threats of revenge in the birds' noisy voices, and I wished Erik had been at my side to protect me.
