He felt himself buried under a mass of wings and bodies, and he began fighting, as he had fought the owls.

A score of pincer-like black beaks fought to get at his hair and hide; others stabbed at his eyes; he felt his ears being pulled from his head, and the end of his nose was a bloody cushion within a dozen seconds.

The breath was beaten out of him; he was blinded, and dazed, and every square inch of him was aquiver with its own excruciating pain.

He forgot Ahtik.

The one thing in the world he wanted most was a large open space in which to run.
Putting all his strength into the effort he struggled to his feet and charged through the mass of living things about him.