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“Falcons whip through the air, their pointed wings blur with speed, they scorn slow game...They scud high and drop like stones, like thunderbolts, they strike so hard that a dove becomes a puff of feathers floating to the earth like snow.” — Nancy Springer
Falcons whip through the air, their pointed wings blur with speed, they scorn slow game...They scud high and drop like stones, like thunderbolts, they strike so hard that a dove becomes a puff of feathers floating to the earth like snow.