It kind of fluttered once it hit the grass, its crooked wings jack-knifing awkwardly as they slapped and tangled with one another. It tilted its flat grey head and peered up at me through the reeds, unblinking. One could only feel pity for its golden-eyed sorrow.
I stalked slowly toward it, reeling my string in with even deliberation as I did. The kite was utterly destroyed, savaged by the serendipity of long curved talons and four flailing wings. It began keening piteously as I approached, limping little hops strained against the tightening wire. I could better appreciate its delicate colouration from this proximity. The head might have been grey, but the rest of its body was glossy with an iridescent dark blue. White eyelids were dabbed beneath black streaks that continued down its neck to its coverted shoulders. It opened a silver beak on a black tongue, hissing.
I reached out a hand.
