The little girl drops her mothers hand, staring avidly at the two swallows flitting over head
"Mommy, why don't we fly anymore? I think I'd like flying"
In a vivid flash of memory mother sees them
Cruel beaks
Darting, probing for the soft down
Of her children
The feeling of flesh parting from bone
and the cold amusement
Of a predator
With cornered prey
Mother looks quickly away.
"We won't speak of flying anymore."
She says quietly
The girl doesn't question it
