Avian Quotes

If by 'miracle kids' you mean innocent test-tube babies whose DNA was forcibly unraveled and merged with two percent avian genes, yeah, I guess that would be us," I said. "Because it's a miracle that we're not complete nut jobs and mutant disasters.

It sucked, but it was way cool at the same time," Gazzy said. "I felt like the Blue Angels!" "Yeah, except the blue Angels are an extremely well funded, well equipped, well trained, well fed, and no doubt squeaky-clean group of crack navy pilots," I said. "And we're a bunch of unfunded, unequipped, semitrained, not nearly well fed enough, and filthy mongrel avian-human hybrids. But other than that, it's exactly the same.

Soft feathers cannot make a cruel bird kind

The most valuable possession my master owns is his submissive. I will take great care that no harm comes to my master's submissive whenever he is not there to watch over me himself.

When Sabine parted her lips to argue, Lanthe said, “This baby bird’s gotta fly, sis.” “Great,” Sabine drawled. “She’s already speaking in avian metaphors.

Fang looked at the newest bird kid. Dylan was an inch or two taller than he was, and somewhat heavier built, though he still had the long, lean look of a human-avian hybrid-you couldn't make bricks fly.

We’ll always have each other.  As long as we have that, it will always be Eden.

What is a fleecy as a cloud, As majestic and shimmering as the breaking dawn, As gorgeous as the sun the sun is strong? Why, it's ME! Twilight, the Great Gray, Tiger of the sky --- Light of the Night, Most beautiful, An avian delight. I beam --- I gleam --- I'm a livin' flying dream. Watch me roll off this cloud and pop on back. This is flying. I ain't no hack.

Sun-struck, stuck in mid tropic strut, it sometimes stands as if considering how to cool avian plastic, dive into the mown lagoon of lawn; how take flight on dayglow flap- doodle wings, no matter if it is ball-bald going nowhere fast.

I watch my loved ones weep with sorrow, death's silent torment of no tomorrow. I feel their hearts breaking, I sense their despair, United in misery, the grief that they share. How do I show that, I am not gone... but the essence of life's everlasting song Why do they wee? Why do they cry? I'm alive in the wind and I am soaring high. I am sparkling light dancing on streams, a moment of warmth in the fays of sunbeams. The coolness of rain as it falls on your face, the whisper of leaves as wind rushes with haste. Eternal Song, a requiem by Avian of Celieria from Crown of Crystal Flame by C.L. Wilson

Blood is everywhere.. Vultures take shelter beneath the tanks; for the fumed sky is unsafe for their avian flight to prey on the Palestinian flesh.

In New York, the European starling—now a ubiquitous avian pest from Alaska to Mexico—was introduced because someone thought the city would be more cultured if Central Park were home to each bird mentioned in Shakespeare.

A bird, unable to fly, is still a bird; but a human unable to love is an inexpensive stone: like a piece of uric acid stone

You know Morse Code?” Avian asked as we walked up. “My grandpa thought it was a fun game when I was little,” West said as he rubbed his eyes again. ”That’s a scientist’s version of fun for you.

Of all the strands in Operation Fortitude, none was quite so bizarre, so wholly unlikely, as the great pigeon double cross, the first and only avian deception scheme ever attempted.

If he was in danger of anything at all, it was spontaneous submissive combustion due to his master’s teasing.

Birds will give you a window, if you allow them. They will show you secrets from another world– fresh vision that, though it is avian, can accompany you home and alter your life. They will do this for you even if you don't know their names– though such knowing is a thoughtful gesture. They will do this for you if you watch them.

If anything was home in this wreck of a world it was Avian.

Your golf course is my duck farm. I am The John Daly of raising avians.

You may be the only avian I’ve ever met who can look happier scrubbing floors than surrounded by luxury.

If ever there was an avian candidate for psychotherapy, the male blue heron is our nominee.

No avian society ever develops space travel because it's impossible to focus on calculus when you could be outside flying.

A flamingo is a pink giraffe bird. That’s pretty exotic until you consider that a Pekin duck is the Amelia Earhart of avians.

Frank’s reflections were disturbed at this point by George T. Nelson’s parakeet, Tammy Faye, who had picked the most inauspicious moment of its small avian life to burst into song.

It would be so much easier if I didnt have to make either choice. Picking neither and going back to the way I was just a few months previous would have been so much simpler. But something inside me had changed. There was no going back now. I couldnt live the same without them.

Avian was home and made me feel secure and right. Everything felt okay when I was with Avian. But at the same time, he was still so much older than I was. And he would be tied to Eden in such a permanent way.

On the fifth night of our search, I see a plesiosaur. It is a megawatt behemoth, bronze and blue-white, streaking across the sea floor like a torpid comet. Watching it, I get this primordial deja vu, like I'm watching a dream return to my body. It wings towards me with a slow, avian grace. Its long neck is arced in an S-shaped curve; its lizard body is the size of Granana's carport. Each of its ghost flippers pinwheels colored light. I try to swim out of its path, but the thing's too big to avoid. That Leviathan fin, it shivers right through me. It's a light in my belly, cold and familiar. And I flash back to a snippet from school, a line from a poem or a science book, I can't remember which: 'There are certain prehistoric things that swim beyond extinction'.

We didn't speak our truest thoughts, and paraphrased our souls until we didn't know our feelings, and so were strangers to ourselves.

Jesus, you'd think the Black Death was sweeping the globe every three months or so...ebola, SARS, avian flu. You know how many people made money on those scares? Shit, I made my first million on useless antiradiation pills during dirty bomb scares.

Something about the gaping hole in the fabric of the cosmos gave him the chills. He leaned over the edge of the opening, expecting to find birds, or similar avian creations of the night’s sky. Instead, he was met with a swarm of unspeakable horrors; winged, pitiful and grotesquely malformed, and to his great stupor, he noticed they had human faces and that they suffered. And as they poured out of the Well of Making, like children from the womb of the eternal feminine, these luciferin creatures spilled onto the world, shrieking in existential agony, for they knew the pain of their mortality.

Hey, who are you?” he quacked. “Where are you? What’s going on and is there any way of stopping it?” “Please relax,” said the voice pleasantly, like a stewardess in an airliner with only one wing and two engines, one of which is on fire, “you are perfectly safe.” “But that’s not the point!” raged Ford. “The point is that I am now a perfectly safe penguin, and my colleague here is rapidly running out of limbs!” “It’s all right, I’ve got them back now,” said Arthur. “Two to the power of fifty thousand to one against and falling,” said the voice. “Admittedly,” said Arthur, “they’re longer than I usually like them, but …” “Isn’t there anything,” squawked Ford in avian fury, “you feel you ought to be telling us?

You’re you, and you’re mine. Nothing else matters.

Maybe I want everything to be as simple as two guys in bed together,” he said. “As simple as pleasing the man I belong to and making him feel better when he’s in pain.

You’re mine, fledgling. You belong to me—body and soul. I own you. Never doubt that.” “Yes, sir.

He was so cheerful all the time it seemed like he might have brain damage.

You cant have both. Avian was right. Even though I didnt know how to handle feeling like this, I knew what I had been doing was wrong. I couldn't have both. It was unfair to both of them. And it was tearing me into two people. But how was I supposed to choose? I felt a tie to both of them, a tie so solid I wasnt sure that even I was strong enough to sever it.

Sean cracked a smile. “They are chickens.” “Technically they’re not even avian.” “Dina, we’re going to host sixty-one space chickens.” I gave up. “Yes.” “And they’re going to argue philosophy.

There is also the danger that someone could create a doomsday weapon by bioengineering some existing disease—Ebola, HIV, avian flu—and making it more lethal or causing it to spread more quickly and easily.

My eyes flipped open at exactly six A.M. This was no avian fluttering of the lashes, no gentle blink toward consciousness. The awakening was mechanical. A spooky ventriloquist-dummy click of the lids: The world is black and then, showtime! 6-0-0 the clock said -in my face, first thing I saw. 6-0-0. It felt different. I rarely woke at such a rounded time. I was a man of jagged risings: 8:43, 11:51, 9:26. My life was alarmless.

They left Puonvangi at the 303rd in the company of a riotous party of Binlisi conventioneers. The Birilisi were an avian species and much given to excessive narcoticism; they and Puonvangi were guaranteed to get on. There was much fluttering.

Bonded, each avian mate instinctively gave the other what was needed without ego or expectation getting in the way. A simple moment of acceptance and care with no jostling for control. Why did humans always complicate things by thinking about them too hard?" -A Twisted Case of Murder

Walk on became her credo; she repeated it to herself every morning upon deciding to get up and exist for one more day. Her days began before dawn, when the birds started arguing. Tess would eat whatever scrap of food she had left and listen to animated avian conversation all around her. Birdsong was a language, unquestionably. She could discern calls and answers, aggression and capitulation and seduction. Warnings. Rapture. She wondered how long it would take to learn such a language without the advantages she’d had with Pathka. If you’d paid as much attention to family and duty as you paid to dumb animals, said her mother’s voice in her mind, you might not have been such a disappointing daughter. That kind of thought was her cue to get going. “Walking on now,” Tess told Mama-in-her-head, kicking dirt over last night’s ashes. “I think I’ll live one more day.

I said nothing about any actual community. Haven’t you heard? We killed them all off. My community is me. And I don’t feel accountable to anyone outside of it—human, avian, or otherwise.” Florence was taken aback. Was that really something you could just decide? That you didn’t owe anything to anyone?

If you’re constantly worrying about something a hundred miles away, you’re liable to get killed by something two feet in front of you.

Somewhere along the way we identified ourselves with them, and came to associate birds with the realm of spirits, as opposed to that of bodies and their carnal appetites.

I’ll happily live my whole life here as a butt-kicking swordsman!

You have come here to build a nest. But you cannot find the materials you need. There is only cold, wet seaweed and you need something drier to make a cosy nest for your egg. Do not worry. I will help you. I have a supply of dry seaweed. Speaking as a non-avian, I feel sure that this would be a highly suitable building material. I will go and fetch it immediately.

I was too abstract. I was not worthy of respect. There…was a madness…I was mad. I committed a heinous act, a heinous act…” His words broke down into avian moans. “What did you do?” Isaac steeled himself to hear of some atrocity. “This language cannot express my crime. In my tongue…” Yagharek stopped for a moment. “I will try to translate. In my tongue they said…they were right…I was guilty of choice-theft…choice-theft in the second degree…with utter disrespect.

One of the most remarkable of all ornithological discoveries was the realisation that birds in temperate regions undergo enormous seasonal changes in their internal organs...Perhaps the most far-reaching discovery relating to these changes was the finding in the 1970s that parts of the brain also varied in size across the year...The centres in the avian brain that control the acquisition and delivery of song in male birds shrink at the end of the breeding season and grow again in the following year.

Nonfiction 598.9: Between 365 million and one billion birds die just from crashing into windows in the United States each year. Digest of Avian Biology: Multiple onlookers reported that after the crow died, a large number of fellow crows (well over one hundred individuals by some accounts) descended from the trees and walked circles around the deceased for fifteen minutes. Nonfiction 598.27: After its mate struck the utility wire, researchers witnessed the owl return to its roost, turn its face to the trunk, and stand motionless for several days until it died.

The thing is, Max,” he said, tons of heart-wringing emotion in his eyes, “you’re even more special than I always told you. You see, you were created for a reason. Kept alive for a purpose, a special purpose.” You mean besides seeing how well insane scientists could graft avian DNA into a human egg? He took a breath, looking deep into my eyes. I coldly shut down every good memory I had of him, every laugh we’d shared, every happy moment, every thought that he was like a dad to me. “Max, that reason, that purpose is: You are supposed to save the world.” 62 Okay, I couldn’t help it. My jaw dropped open. I shut it again quickly. Well. This would certainly give weight to my ongoing struggle to have the bathroom first in the morning.

The two of them had fallen into the habit of bartering knowledge whenever she visited. He schooled her in jazz, in bebop and exotic bossa nova, playing his favorites for her while he painted- Slim Gaillard, Rita Reys, King Pleasure, and Jimmy Giuffre- stabbing the air with his brush when there was a particular passage he wanted her to note. In turn, she showed him the latest additions to her birding diary- her sketches of the short-eared owl and American wigeon, the cedar waxwing and late warblers. She explained how the innocent-looking loggerhead shrike killed its prey by biting it in the back of the neck, severing the spinal cord before impaling the victim on thorns or barbed wire and tearing it apart. "Good grief," he'd said, shuddering. "I'm in the clutches of an avian Vincent Price.

The current popular image of Zeus as a cheerful, avuncular type perplexes me. I know it comes from a silly kids’ movie, but I’m not sure they could have gotten it more wrong. Zeus was never avuncular. He killed his father, raped his sister, and then married her, calculating that sanctified incest was marginally better than the unsanctified kind. After that he conducted a series of what are generously called “affairs” with mortal women, though sometimes tales will admit he “ravished” them, which is to say he raped them. He turned into a swan once for a girl with an avian fetish, and another time he manifested as a golden shower over a woman imprisoned in a hole in the ground. His actions clearly paint him as skeevy to the max and the most despicable of examples. He’s not the kind of god that belongs in kids’ films. He’s the kind that releases the kraken.

If you happened to find yourself at the foot of the stairs in the White House on a typical afternoon sometime around 1804 or 1805, you might have noticed a perky bird in a pearl-gray coat ascending the steps behind Thomas Jefferson, hop by hop, as the president retired to his chambers for a siesta. This was Dick. Although the president didn’t dignify his pet mockingbird with one of the fancy Celtic or Gallic names he gave his horses and sheepdogs—Cucullin, Fingal, Bergère—still it was a favorite pet. “I sincerely congratulate you on the arrival of the Mocking bird,” Jefferson wrote to his son-in-law, who had informed him of the advent of the first resident mockingbird. “Learn all the children to venerate it as a superior being in the form of a bird.” Dick may well have been one of the two mockingbirds Jefferson bought in 1803. These were pricier than most pet birds ($10 or $15 then—around $125 now) because their serenades included not only renditions of all the birds of the local woods, but also popular American, Scottish, and French songs. Not everyone would pick this bird for a friend. Wordsworth called him the “merry mockingbird.” Brash, yes. Saucy and animated. But merry? His most common call is a bruising tschak!—a kind of unlovely avian expletive that one naturalist described as a cross between a snort of disgust and a hawking of phlegm. But Jefferson adored Dick for his uncommon intelligence, his musicality, and his remarkable ability to mimic. As the president’s friend Margaret Bayard Smith wrote, “Whenever he was alone he opened the cage and let the bird fly about the room. After flitting for a while from one object to another, it would alight on his table and regale him with its sweetest notes, or perch on his shoulder and take its food from his lips.” When the president napped, Dick would sit on his couch and serenade him with both bird and human tunes.

The birds had multiplied. She'd installed rows upon rows of floating melamine shelves above shoulder height to accommodate the expression of her once humble collection. Though she'd had bird figurines all over the apartment, the bulk of her prized collection was confined to her bedroom because it had given her joy to wake up to them every morning. Before I'd left, I had a tradition of gifting her with bird figurines. It began with a storm petrel, a Wakamba carving of ebony wood from Kenya I had picked up at the museum gift shop from a sixth-grade school field trip. She'd adored the unexpected birthday present, and I had hunted for them since. Clusters of ceramic birds were perched on every shelf. Her obsession had brought her happiness, so I'd fed it. The tiki bird from French Polynesia nested beside a delft bluebird from the Netherlands. One of my favorites was a glass rainbow macaw from an Argentinian artist that mimicked the vibrant barrios of Buenos Aires. Since the sixth grade, I'd given her one every year until I'd left: eight birds in total. As I lifted each member of her extensive bird collection, I imagined Ma-ma was with me, telling a story about each one. There were no signs of dust anywhere; cleanliness had been her religion. I counted eighty-eight birds in total. Ma-ma had been busy collecting while I was gone. I couldn't deny that every time I saw a beautiful feathered creature in figurine form, I thought of my mother. If only I'd sent her one, even a single bird, from my travels, it could have been the precursor to establishing communication once more. Ma-ma had spoken to her birds often, especially when she cleaned them every Saturday morning. I had imagined she was some fairy-tale princess in the Black Forest holding court over an avian kingdom. I was tempted to speak to them now, but I didn't want to be the one to convey the loss of their queen. Suddenly, however, Ma-ma's collection stirred. It began as a single chirp, a mournful cry swelling into a chorus. The figurines burst into song, tiny beaks opening, chests puffed, to release a somber tribute to their departed beloved. The tune was unfamiliar, yet its melancholy was palpable, rising, surging until the final trill when every bird bowed their heads toward the empty bed, frozen as if they hadn't sung seconds before. I thanked them for the happiness they'd bestowed on Ma-ma.

Youngest Brother, swan's wing, where one arm should be, yours the shirt of nettles short a sleeve and me with no time left to finish -- I didn't mend you all the way back into man though I managed for your brothers; they flit again from court to playing-courts to courting, while you station yourself, wing folded from sight, avian eye to the outside, no rebuke meant but love's. Was it better then, the living on the water, the taking to air...? ("Ever After," from the book 'The Poets' Grimm')

He grabbed me with both hands and began pushing me backward. I lost my balance. The ledge was at an angle, and it was covered with loose gravel. I was less than a foot from the edge. It was at that very moment that the clouds parted. The September sun burst through. The entire world was illuminated. Time shattered into moments. I could see for a hundred miles in every direction. I could see mountain peeks and pristine lakes. And I could somehow feel as well as see the never-ending drop that toyed with me, ruffling my hair, pulling at my back, one step behind me.

I'm not a spy, I'm an agent. There's a difference. I'm protecting you, not that you seem to be grateful." "You're protecting me. How old are you anyway?" "Fifteen." "Fifteen? You can't even drive!" "I can drive," I responded. It's just that certain officers say I may not drive." "WTF?" she said. "We're going into Afghanistan, and they've sent a pre-driver." Pre-driver? Was that even a word? And I was here specifically because Talya and Thorne were so young. "I thought you were sixteen," I said. "I can drive," she responded haughtily.

She told me she'd chosen something for the headstone, part of a verse from Psalm eighty-four- 'Yea, the sparrow hath found an house.' I never got to see it; the headstone was being engraved." "'And the swallow a nest for herself.' That was one of my mother's favorite psalms," he said.

Costermongers crowded the thoroughfare, hawking their wares with impatient cries. They sold everything imaginable: ropes of onions and braces of dead game, teapots, flowers, matches, and caged larks and nightingales. This last presented frequent problems to the Hathaways, as Beatrix was determined to rescue every living creature she saw. Many a bird had been reluctantly purchased by their brother-in-law, Mr. Rohan, and set free at their country estate. Rohan swore that by now he had purchased half the avian population in Hampshire.

Avian imagery indicates flightiness.

For me, that afternoon, the Marvelous Spatuletail represented something far beyond a single bird. It distilled the whole experience of Peru, incarnated in avian form— all of the rough, raw material of an entire country compressed into one bright and shining diamond.

4.1 Introduction A flying bird generates lift forces to counteract gravity and thrust forces to overcome drag. The magnitude of these forces can be crudely approximated using elementary physical principles. Steady flight in still air at a uniform speed and at one altitude is the simplest case. It requires balanced forces where lift equals weight and thrust equals drag as well as balanced moments of these forces about the centre of gravity. Under these relatively simple conditions the magnitude of the mechanical power involved in the generation of lift and thrust in relation to speed can be estimated. The power to generate lift is inversely proportional to flight speed and the power needed for thrust increases with the speed cubed. The total mechanical power is the sum of the lift and thrust powers and hence follows a U-shaped curve if plotted against speed. A U-shaped power curve implies that there are two optimal speeds, one where the power is minimal and a higher one where the amount of work per unit distance reaches the lowest value. The question is, does this U-shaped power curve really exist in birds?

Heat? He supposed she was right, why couldn’t a male swan or any other avian shifter lay eggs? Vic glanced back at the restaurant where Kellan sat waiting for his return. Everything inside him screamed that Kellan was meant to be with him—had been drawn to Vale Valley so they could be together—but he hadn’t considered that they could be fated mates. Maybe I have been wallowing in my loneliness for much too long.

Birds— and Territory My dad and I designed a house for a wren family when I was ten years old. It looked like a Conestoga wagon, and had a front entrance about the size of a quarter. This made it a good house for wrens, who are tiny, and not so good for other, larger birds, who couldn’t get in. My elderly neighbour had a birdhouse, too, which we built for her at the same time, from an old rubber boot. It had an opening large enough for a bird the size of a robin. She was looking forward to the day it was occupied. A wren soon discovered our birdhouse, and made himself at home there. We could hear his lengthy, trilling song, repeated over and over, during the early spring. Once he’d built his nest in the covered wagon, however, our new avian tenant started carrying small sticks to our neighbour’s nearby boot. He packed it so full that no other bird, large or small, could possibly get in. Our neighbour was not pleased by this pre- emptive strike, but there was nothing to be done about it. “If we take it down,” said my dad, “clean it up, and put it back in the tree, the wren will just pack it full of sticks again.” Wrens are small, and they’re cute, but they’re merciless. I had broken my leg skiing the previous winter— first time down the hill— and had received some money from a school insurance policy designed to reward unfortunate, clumsy children. I purchased a cassette recorder (a high- tech novelty at the time) with the proceeds. My dad suggested that I sit on the back lawn, record the wren’s song, play it back, and watch what happened. So,

not just Machupo but also Marburg (1967), Lassa (1969), Ebola (1976, with Karl Johnson again prominently involved), HIV-1 (inferred in 1981, first isolated in 1983), HIV-2 (1986), Sin Nombre (1993), Hendra (1994), avian flu (1997), Nipah (1998), West Nile (1999), SARS (2003), and the much feared but anticlimactic swine flu of 2009.

You made a good choice for your Naga,” she assured me. “Danica is more graceful on a dais than half the serpents I know.” “Provided she isn’t blushing too brightly to see,” another quipped. “The first time I saw our queen perform, I thought she was a lost cause--far too uptight, like most avians--but I’m glad to be proved wrong.” I knew I was grinning. I had never doubted that Danica could learn the serpent art. Much of her loved my world; a part of her craved dance as surely as anyone else in this nest did. Perhaps that thirst came from her time dancing with the currents of air far above where we earthbound creatures roamed, or perhaps it came from the expressive nature her own world forced her to hide. Similar conversation flowed among us until A’isha’s musical voice commanded me, “Zane, admire your queen.” The words brought our attention to the back of the room, where Danica had emerged, looking so beautiful that she took my breath away. In response to her teacher’s words, Danica smiled and shook her head, causing her golden hair to ripple about her face. It made my heart speed and my breath still, as if I was afraid the next movement would shatter the world. She was a spark of fire in sha’Mehay. The serpiente dress rippled around the hawk’s long legs, the fabric so light it moved with the slightest shift of air. The bodice was burgundy silk; it laced up the front with a black ribbon, and though it was more modest than many dancers’ costumes, it still revealed enough cream-and-roses skin to tantalize the imagination. On Danica’s right temple, A’isha had painted a symbol for courage; beneath her left collarbone lay the symbols for san’Anhamirak, abandon and freedom. “You dance every day with the wind. This is not so different,” A’isha said encouragingly to Danica. “Now, look at the man you love and dance for him.” The nest hushed, faces turning to their Naga. Her cheeks held more color than usual, which A’isha addressed with a common dancers’ proverb. “There is no place for shame, Danica. If Anhamirak had not wanted beauty admired, she would not have made our eyes desire it. You are art.” Danica stepped out of A’isha’s grip. “If my mother could see me now,” she murmured, but she smiled as she said it.

You made a good choice for your Naga,” she assured me. “Danica is more graceful on a dais than half the serpents I know.” “Provided she isn’t blushing too brightly to see,” another quipped. “The first time I saw our queen perform, I thought she was a lost cause--far too uptight, like most avians--but I’m glad to be proved wrong.” I knew I was grinning. I had never doubted that Danica could learn the serpent art. Much of her loved my world; a part of her craved dance as surely as anyone else in this nest did. Perhaps that thirst came from her time dancing with the currents of air far above where we earthbound creatures roamed, or perhaps it came from the expressive nature her own world forced her to hide. Similar conversation flowed among us until A’isha’s musical voice commanded me, “Zane, admire your queen.

I don’t know much about your kind, but I know that a snake’s egg will grow too quickly and die if they’re too hot. Your palace doctor has confirmed that your young are the same way. That being so, imagine a serpiente child growing in an avian womb; it would never survive.” Without waiting for me to acknowledge whether I understood, she concluded, “Apparently you’re both human enough to breed together. Your mate’s body is adapting itself to take care of your child. She will be weak for a while, but otherwise she appears healthy. You may see her in a couple of days.” “Days?” “I’ve been a doctor since before you were born, and that gives me the right to be blunt,” Betsy said. “She needs a few days without excitement while her system is getting used to the changes. Having you in her bedroom is not going to help her rest.” Again I grudgingly accepted the doctor’s orders, though I hoped that Danica would argue once she woke. “Andreios, you’ll make sure he does as he’s told?” Betsy appealed to the crow. Rei answered immediately, “You know I would never let anyone do anything that would endanger my queen.” Betsy frowned. “You’ve spent too much time with serpents for me to trust that means you’ll obey my orders,” she said. “I’ll wash my hands of it until she has the sense to return to the Keep. Just make sure she is allowed to rest. I will stay in serpiente lands until she is well enough to travel, in case complications arise. Zane, your associates assured me a room in the palace.” I nodded. “Of course.” I wasn’t overly fond of the doctor right then, but that wasn’t really her fault. Avians, and their fixation on decorum and respectability, sent me to the brink of insanity almost daily.

I don’t think we can deal with this immediately.” I looked at Danica as I spoke, searching her expression for agreement or argument. “Valene, the dancers have already welcomed Danica and our child. If they can circulate the knowledge that I will name Danica’s child my heir, I can only hope it won’t be as much of a shock when the announcement is made.” Even as I spoke, I felt the cold knot of fear in my gut. Our child would be born in peace, but would she live in war? “Besides that, we’ll have to wait until the protests are raised specifically.” “Not meaning to be troublesome,” Ailbhe answered, “but how absurd is the idea that Salem could be Diente?” The white viper’s words were answered by a roomful of glares, but he stood his ground. “What I mean to ask is, what is your ultimate goal? Salem will be raised without hatred for Danica’s people. He’ll have no hunger for war, and what’s more, he’ll have a civilization at peace to begin with. If peace is your goal, your sister’s child will still make a fine Diente.” “And what of our child?” Danica spoke in her calm and detached court voice, which she used among serpents only when she was too angry or disgusted to maintain rationality any other way. My hand found hers, and she gripped it tightly. “Your child may well be born as purely avian as you are. If it takes an avian mate, its children will probably show little of the Cobriana blood. Again, if your goal is just peace, the child could be raised avian--raised to be Tuuli Thea. Each court would have its heir, an heir raised without bloodlust and hatred. You would have peace.” For a moment I could not speak. So long as I had breath in my body, I would see my child on the serpiente throne. Diente, Tuuli Thea--our child would be both. “Are you mad?” The words escaped me as I locked eyes with Ailbhe. “How could you consider--” “Zane.” Danica interrupted me, placing a hand on my chest. “You can’t be thinking--” “Would you rather set up our child for war from the instant it’s born? If the serpiente reject our child for their throne, then you still have Salem as your heir. If my people reject it, there will be no Tuuli Thea after me.

How is your lady love faring in all this?” His expression shifted, betraying the smile of one happily besotted despite the circumstances. “I think she is as stunned as everyone else, but she is a very strong, capable woman.” I couldn’t resist the urge to tease a little. “Strong and capable? Flattering descriptions, but hardly warm enough to merit the soft look in your eyes.” “She isn’t a serpent, who wears her passions like jewelry and dances barefoot in the morning,” Gerard answered. “She is an avian lady, serene and composed even when she is upset. Strong, and capable.” More softly, he added, “She guards her heart and soul tightly unless she is around those she most trusts…so every little glimpse she allows me is like the silver moon rising over the sea.” “A’le-Ahnleh,” I responded with newfound respect. “My best wishes to you both.

The avian court follows the Tuuli Thea. They would be hesitant to bring their families so close to the serpiente, at least at first, but hopefully future generations won’t be as frightened. And if we let it be known that we will raise our child there, I think that plenty of avian scholars would be willing to go, if only in hopes of ‘protecting’ the queen’s heir. Then of course there may be those who simply wish to curry favor with their monarch, even if it means supporting what they will doubtless see as another mad scheme by their Tuuli Thea.” “Another?” “Of course,” she answered sweetly. “You may recall the last one, since it involved announcing you as my alistair.

The dancers are a crucial part of serpiente culture, not to mention a beautiful addition to any public area.” “They may be important to the serpiente, but making their performances so accessible to our children just isn’t appropriate,” Lincon said. “Wouldn’t it make more sense for the dancers to remain in their nest, so the more impressionable of our…” He trailed off, because the room had suddenly gone very quiet around him. A’isha flitted over to the avian man, wrapped in quiet anger. “Have we harmed you in some way while you have been here? Has one of my dancers offended you?” Lincon pointed out, “It is not your hospitality I question, but your regard for propriety. I was propositioned within moments of entering your nest.” A’isha chuckled, shaking her head. “You are a pretty man, and you walked in alone.” Lincon cleared his throat. “I don’t think this is a laughing matter.

We come from different worlds,” I said, “but each has so much to teach the other. There will be moments of dissonance, when people struggle to understand each other’s ways, but once we get past our misconceptions, imagine the reward. “The dancers will perform in the market of Wyvern’s Court; they will be beside avian poets, singers, philosophers and storytellers or we cannot hope to succeed. Merchants will haggle prices and barter goods as they have in both our markets throughout history. Scholars will work to impart their valuable knowledge to their students. Artists will create beauty. And our children will grow up together, playing the same games, taught by the same teachers, living side by side until as adults, I pray, they laugh at the petty arguments we had in this nest while we designed their world.” “And ravens will dance, and serpents will fight for the lives of falcons.

When I had arrived home and learned of this terrible series of events, I had immediately set out for the Hawk’s Keep. I had started that ride in a fog of denial, refusing to acknowledge that my brother was dead, refusing to believe that the burden of the roal seat had fallen to me so suddenly at the age of sixteen. The hours had turned my thoughts from disbelief to mad fury. I had scaled the walls of the Hawk’s Keep, intent on murder, and stumbled into the room of Danica Shardae. And there, I think I fell in love. As I beheld the avian princess sleeping so innocently, her cheek marked by a new cut--probably by one of my own people’s blades--my hatred died, leaving only a desperate desire for peace in its wake. When the mad suggestion was made last winter that taking the enemy queen as my mate could end the war, it had almost seemed like fate. It had not been easy to bridge the gaps between us, but together we had managed. Fate had given me many gifts. Danica Shardae was the one for which I would forever be most grateful.

Danica’s eyes fluttered open the instant I stepped through the door, and she smiled softly. “I was starting to wonder if you were planning on obeying Betsy after all.” “Never,” I assured her. “Though I’ve promised I will let you get some sleep. How do you feel?” I went to her side, and Danica hooked and arm across my shoulders to steady herself as she sat up. Danica winced. “I hurt.” She rolled her shoulders, as if the muscles were sore. “I’m sure,” I responded sympathetically. Offering the Ahnleh A’isha had given to me, I went on, “This is a congratulatory gift from sha’Mehay.” I explained the significance of the ancient coin and repeated A’isha’s words regarding why she was giving it to Danica. She took the coin reverently, closing it in her hand for a moment before tying the cord into place. “Thank you,” she said softly, as she snuggled closer. I knew the words were not for me, but for the nest around us. I began to massage her shoulders, and she closed her eyes and leaned back toward my touch. My fingertips brushed the feathers growing under her hair at the nape of her neck. There was still a moment of hesitation in my mind every time I felt those feathers, a moment when my thoughts protested, remembering so many years of war when this beautiful woman had been my enemy, so hated that when fate crossed our paths there had been no choice but for me to love her. She met my gaze now without any hint of the fear that had once been there. Cobriana eyes had once been for Danica what her feathers were for me. Avian legend said that a royal cobra’s garnet eyes possessed demonic power, and it had taken a long time for Danica to trust me enough to look into mine. Most avians still shuddered and avoided my gaze. “I feel…tired, but wonderful. Betsy tells me--” She broke off, words failing her, and then gave up on speech and kissed me. “I love you,” she whispered--then yawned widely. “Take a nap with me?” The request, as always, made me smile. When we had first met, the idea of resting with another person was as foreign to the lovely but reserved hawk as the idea of flying was to me. I was happy that Danica had not yet taken me into the air, but she had grown used to a second heartbeat while she rested. That blessing pleased me almost as much as any could. I wrapped my arms around milady; Danica sighed, tucking her head down against my chest like a chick in the nest. Having her there calmed my fears and let me drift into sleep.

As avian diversity declined in the United States, specialist species like woodpeckers and rails disappeared, while generalist species like American robins and crows boomed. (Populations of American robins have grown by 50 to 100 percent over the past twenty-five years.)48 This reordering of the composition of the local bird population steadily increased the chances that the virus would reach a high enough concentration to spill over into humans.

The term "productivity" is an economic measure referring to averages, not the well-being of individuals. Excess fertility and musculature are not the criteria that we use to judge the well-being of human beings, and they are not indices of avian well-being either. They more likely signify the opposite.

During my four years as a postdoctoral researcher at Indiana University, I applied to literally hundreds of tenure-track jobs at all different kinds of colleges and universities: big state universities, small liberal arts colleges, private universities, community colleges, small branch campuses. Finally, in 2010, I landed four on-campus interviews.

The headache was a result of being drugged. And then the other horror hit him like a slap to the face, and he involuntarily gasped. He was in avian, driving away from their hotel. Kovac had given him only enough narcotic to make him compliant, like a drunk who needs to be led away from a party.

The 1918 influenza pandemic (also known as the Spanish Flu) was the most severe pandemic in recent history. It was caused by an H1N1 virus with genes of avian origin. It’s estimated that about 500 million people—one-third of the world’s population—became infected with this virus. The number of deaths was estimated to be at least 50 million worldwide, with about 675,000 occurring in the United States. This virus is still with us today, and is the reason for our annual flu shots.

One of those 48 studies is the Danish analysis published in November 2020 in the world-renowned journal Annals of Internal Medicine, which concluded: „The trial found no statistically significant benefit of wearing a face mask.“1416 Shortly before, U.S. researcher Yinon Weiss updated his charts on cloth face masks mandates in various countries and U.S. states—and they also showed that mask mandates have made no difference or may even have been counterproductive.1417 The aforementioned website „Ärzte klären auf“ showed a graph with data going until December 4, 2020, which also refutes the effectiveness of the mask obligation.

Think about it. Look at what it took for intelligence to emerge in Nature. Today is Monday. If the 3.8 billion years life has thrived on Earth equated to 38 days, then for over a month all we had around here were microbes. “Complex, multicellular life arose last Wednesday. Dinosaurs came in on Friday. Sometime this morning, around 1am, a meteor struck and the best part of an entire phylogenetic clade was pushed to extinction. Those few avian dinosaurs that did survive went on to supply us with deep fried chicken and scrambled eggs.” I can’t help but smile at Avika’s compressed take on the history of life on Earth. “Mammals have been around at least since Sunday, but they were little more than rodents most of the time. That rock from space cleared out vast swathes of the ecosystem, and mammals rushed to fill the gap. “Every multicellular creature has some degree of intelligence, or at least instinct, but it wasn’t until some point in the last hour that the wisest of men, Homo sapiens arose, and yet even then, intelligence was little more than a desperate struggle for survival. “For the last seven minutes, or roughly two hundred thousand years, our intelligence extended little further than chipping at rocks to make stone knives. “In the last thirty seconds, we’ve been on a bender. We’ve built pyramids, sailed the oceans and landed on the Moon!” I say, “So your point is, human intelligence is the pinnacle of evolution?” “Oh, no. Not at all. There’s plenty of intelligence in the animal kingdom, especially among mammals, birds and cephalopods, but it took 3.8 billion years before intelligence could exploit its own ingenuity and blossom in its own right. “If all our intellectual accomplishments are the result of the last thirty seconds, then perhaps creating artificial intelligence isn’t quite as easy as busting out some Perl scripts.” I

I have the greatest respect for conservation biologists. I care very much about conserving the rain forest and the wildlife in Indonesia, but I also found it disheartening. It often feels like you are fighting a losing battle, especially in areas where people depend so heavily on these natural resources for their own survival. After graduation, I decided to return to the original behavioral questions that motivated me. Although monogamy—both social and genetic—is rare in mammals, social monogamy is the norm in birds. Plus, birds are everywhere. I figured that if I turned my attention to studying our feathered friends, I wouldn’t have to spend months on end trying to secure research permits and travel visas from foreign governments. I wouldn’t even have to risk getting bitten by leeches (a constant problem in the Mentawais*). Birds seemed like the perfect choice for my next act. But I didn’t know anyone who studied birds. My PhD was in an anthropology department, without many links to researchers in biology departments. Serendipitously, while applying for dozens of academic jobs, I stumbled across an advertisement for a position managing Dr. Ellen Ketterson’s laboratory at Indiana University. The ad described Ketterson’s long-term project on dark-eyed juncos. Eureka! Birds! At the time, her lab primarily focused on endocrinology methods like hormone assays (a method to measure how much of a hormone is present in blood or other types of biological samples), because they were interested in how testosterone levels influenced behavior. I had no experience with either birds or hormone assays. But I had spent the last several years developing DNA sequencing and genotyping skills, which the Ketterson lab was just starting to use. I hoped that my expertise with fieldwork and genetic work would be seen as beneficial enough to excuse my lack of experience in ornithology and endocrinology. I submitted my application but heard nothing back. After a while, I did something that was a bit terrifying at the time. Of the dozens of academic positions I had applied to, this felt like the right one, so I tried harder. I wrote to Dr. Ketterson again to clarify why I was so interested in the job and why I would be a good fit, even though on paper I seemed completely wrong for it. I described why I wanted to work with birds instead of primates. I explained that I had years of fieldwork experience in challenging environments and could easily learn ornithological methods. I listed my laboratory expertise and elaborated on how beneficial it could be to her research group, and how easily I could learn to do hormone assays and why they were important for my research too. She wrote me back. I got the job.

We’re a team,” Arlo panted, bending to catch her breath and will her heart to slow its frantic pace. She glanced up. “We’re doing this together, okay?” Nausicaä swallowed. Her furious edge had softened a fraction, but she seemed stuck between her pale, avian wrath and the haunting beauty of her usual false arrogance. She also seemed to be searching for something to say, but that was stuck as well. Smiling, Arlo straightened and took a step closer to her. “A dark and hollow star,” Arlo said, holding up her fist between them. Something burned in her chest she’d never before felt…though it was possible her heart was just trying to commit mutiny for that sudden burst of exercise. “I’m not going to let you face this alone.

Even after years of scientific strides academic enlightenment was still lacking. The fossilized scientists from yesteryear, with their avian noses, would cast down their deterministic gaze at the those who strayed too far from the ancient zeitgeist. Those in front of the blackboard, tossing out cash, would rather stick to what they knew, would rather maintain the world they helped create so that they may retain dominance, comfy in their ivory tower thrones. But at what cost? One can always remain on top of a mountain that never grows.

Avian Flu is on the rise both in Asia and Europe. Coincidence? I don't think so. I sent a message to the CDC in the US asking if there was any correlation between Covid-19 (Coronavirus) . This was back in August 2020. I never received a reply back. Now it is coming to fruition again. Some animals are more likely to get Covid-19 than others. So, we have to ask ourselves once more, "Is there any correlation between Covid-19 (coronavirus) and the reemergence of bird flu in so called, Covid hot spots?" I believe that there is.

Instead, they picked up acoustic guitars and recorded the straightforwardly simple backing track—just the two guitars and a scratch vocal—for ‘Bluebird,’ a graceful tune with sweetly poetic lyric that continued the series of metaphorical avian fantasies that already included ‘Blackbird’ and ‘Single Pigeon’—subliminal echoes, perhaps, of Paul’s childhood days as a devoted reader of S. Vere Benson’s Observer’s Book of Birds.

convergent evolution: a strikingly similar trait that arose independently in different branches of the tree of life. As milk scientist Katie Hinde has written on her blog, Mammels Suck: “The production of milk independently arose after the divergence of avian and mammalian lineages over 300 million years ago. However, these milks seemingly serve the same function: body-nourishing, bacteria-inoculating, immune-programming substances produced by parents specifically to support offspring development.” Milk, in other words, is so useful that evolution created it twice.

In the morning mist, as I worked my way upstream, I watched three deer wade across the river ahead of me and quickly got out of my own head. The foliage was thick and green, in that moment before Texas summer becomes too hot to endure without immersing yourself in the water, and the air buzzed with insect and avian life. Canoeing, especially alone, has a meditative quality. I had to tune into the water, into the current, into the air. I felt and followed the flow of the elements around me, moving my body and the vessel that carried it through space, my form propelled by the paddle I stroked along the sides of the boat with learned grace, at the pace of the place, mostly silent. Not unlike the rudimentary meditation practices I had learned in high school from a visiting Zen priestess, I realize now, the activity had a way of emptying the mind of active thought. In zazen, the aim is no more mind than a dim mindfulness of the act of breathing. In a canoe, there’s a lot more going on, a way of moving through the natural environment that by its very essence leaves little room for distracted thought—an exorcism of the self that compels you to let the world around you into your consciousness. I literally had to feel my way using all my senses, opening my being up to everything it was interacting with. To do so without leaving the city, finding myself totally alone in a pocket of urban reality filled with bountifully diverse life, was absolutely transcendent.

You can trust my word,” Everet said. “No one will raise a hand to punish you while you belong to me. Not me, not anyone else.

In a final flourish, drawing on his extensive knowledge of avian anatomy, he presents a critique of the supposed morphology of divine beings: “If angels had any reality, they would be very clumsy and awkward fliers with a slow heavy flight, lacking as they are in aerodynamic shape.

A brand-new, highly effective anti-flu drug that had potential for massive sales. With the new bird flu scare, Merwyn stood to make a bundle off of the ensuing panic. With a 98 percent profit margin and skyrocketing demand, Merwyn couldn’t lose. Andrew alone stood to make millions in stock options and bonus incentives for brokering the deal. It was like a dream come true: the global spread of the avian flu virus, millions infected, a few hundred thousand dead and millions more taking Preva-Flu by the $80 packet.

rumbling over the supposed destructive power of the H5N1 strain of avian flu and the predicted crisis had still not manifested itself. Until three days ago, Greg would have said with confidence that it was simply a case of Chicken Little and a whole bunch of epidemiologists and public health workers worried over a sky that remained perfectly intact.

A gathering nimbus obscured the sun’s light and out from the gathered clouds looped and coiled the guardian of the avian world. With a trail of inferno in her wake, it was Alicanto

People like me really shouldn’t be allowed to build a people house until we’ve managed to build a bird house that isn’t immediately condemned as uninhabitable by the avian building department.

Such avian silence is punctuated only by the occasional plunk of a trout sinking an ovipositioning daddy longlegs, and the hysterical cackle of a Mallard that finally gets last night’s joke.

she was like the merlin in pursuit of its airborne quarry, perhaps the snow bunting or a small meadow pipit; the avian prey is nimble but so is the predatory merlin with its inexhaustible stamina and unparalleled agility – round and round it chases the pipit, and the two flying at speeds almost impossible for the observer to follow.

For their size, crows are among the brainiest organisms on Earth, outclassing not only other birds (with the possible exception of parrots), but also most mammals.

She has, however, noticed one important difference between crows and us: their families are generally more peaceful than ours sometimes are. No matter what the provocation, family members usually work out their differences without violence or any other signs of overt aggression.