A morning of clarity – the air fresh and the tree lined horizon without a hint of haze to interrupt the colour. The northerly wind of the early morning had seemed to polish the atmosphere. The Bure was relatively quiet, with very little activity along the river. Susan and Sarah appeared in the distance tending a horse a pasture.

The only bird noise being the circus clown-like honk of Egyptian Geese, a sound which does not fit into the soft mix of a river valley morning.

A squelching approach to the footbridge over the Mermaid River drew the sudden appearance of a Sparrowhawk. Bursting from a riverside thorn, she carried the deadweight of a recent victim. The unidentifiable lifeless grey bundle held tight and the strain of flight showing in her splayed wind feathers. Not too heavy to fly some distance, disappearing through the Oak trees to the Pightle.