Boys -- Juvenile fiction; Fantasy literature; Nature -- Juvenile fiction; Self-reliance -- Juvenile fiction
Thus encouraged, he once more turned to the corpse, and again
anxiously began to examine the face. Now Martin had been watching
them through the slits of his not quite closed eyes all the time,
and listening to their talk. Being hungry himself he could not help
feeling for them, and not thinking that it would hurt him to be cut
up in pieces and devoured, he had begun to wish that they would
really begin on him. He was both amused and annoyed at their
nervousness, and at last opening wide his eyes very suddenly he cried,
"Feel my heart!"
It was as if a gun had been fired among them; for a moment they were
struck still with terror, and then all together turned and fled,
going away with three very long hops, and then opening wide their
great wings they launched themselves on the air.
For they were not little black men in black silk clothes as it had
seemed, but vultures--those great, high-soaring, black-plumaged
birds which he had watched circling in the sky, looking no bigger
than bees or flies at that vast distance above the earth. And when
he was watching them they were watching him, and after he had fallen
asleep they continued moving round and round in the sky for hours,
and seeing him lying so still on the plain they at last imagined
that he was dead, and one by one they closed or half-closed their
wings and dropped, gliding downwards, growing larger in appearance
as they neared the ground, until the small black spots no bigger
than flies were seen to be great black birds as big as turkeys.
But you see Martin was not dead after all, and so they had to go
away without their dinner.
CHAPTER X
A TROOP OF WILD HORSES
It seemed so lonely to Martin when the vultures had gone up out of
sight in the sky, so silent and solitary on that immense level plain,
that he could not help wishing them back for the sake of company.
They were an amusing people when they were walking round him,
conversing together, and trying without coming too near to discover
whether he was dead or only sleeping.
All that day it was just as lonely, for though he went on as far as
he could before night, he was still on that great level plain of dry
yellow grass which appeared to have no end, and the blue hills
looked no nearer than when he had started in the morning. He was
hungry and thirsty that evening, and very cold too when he nestled
down on the ground with nothing to cover him but the little heap of
dry grass he had gathered for his bed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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