After the funeral Nin was approached by a large hawk. “You may not remember me, but I remember you,” said the hawk. “It was long ago, on a distant tundra.”
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Tundra (2)
For a moment all the world was cast in shadow, but then the darkness passed.
Nin craned his neck, he could only just make out the silhouette of a winged figure circling far above him. It turned slowly beneath the sun; large, hideous wings cut the air. He squinted, and soon recognized its form to be that of a hawk. Nin could feel its eyes upon him.
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On the other side of the desert was a vast tundra, and as he approached it, Nin found it little better than the desert itself. A harsh, pervasive wind blew through the underbrush—a coarse and hardy brush hardly fit to eat. Rain fell in short, fierce bursts and never pooled upon the ground.
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