Ewen glided to his eyrie throne on the face of the mountain cliff and landed softly. He shuffled the moisture from his wings, flexed his talons to release the ptarmigan and peered at the contents of the nest. It never ceased to amaze him.
After nearly two months of loving care the two white eggs blotched with brown had come to life. Now, amongst the cart load of sticks and twigs, in a bowl of heather and feather, sat two fluffy, pot-bellied chicks.
They were pleased to see their father because he always brought them food but they really wanted their mother. She made the food more edible, gave them body warmth at night and shielded them from the frequent icy blasts with her wings half spread.

(To be continued)