They are the only ones who hear me. I am the only one who sees them. Seven colorful birds with long beaks and talons as sharp as a knife. Seven who fly through this world. Seven magnificent things brought into this world. From my yard, I see them soar through the sky, but my brother just does not care.

Their power comes from the wind. They soar down towards the ground. They fly through the blue sky and snatch up rats and squirrels between their long beaks and sore back into the sky with their magnificent wings and their hunger never ceases. This is how they hunt.

If one flew away from the flock, They'd all soar like kites in the wind, each with their wings flapping around in the air. Hunt, hunt, hunt they say while I sink to the ground. They soar.

When they are too sorrowful and too fragile to keep soaring, when I am but a speck in the bird’s eye, then it is I look at the birds. When there is nothing left to hunt. Seven who survived despite circumstances. Seven who soar through the skies and never land. Seven whose only drive is to pursue and devour.