A tall, imposing elder with fearsome beak and huge talons folded his massive wings and winked at Thrugg. “Aye, ’twas an’ all. Mah clan’s speedier on the wing than anything in yonder sky.”

Thrugg looked around doubtfully. “But there’s only six of you. There’s ’undreds of crows out there, beggin’ yer pardon o’ course.”

The big falcon grinned fearsomely. “Ach, dinnae apologize, streamdog. We were searchin’ for that young rip, mah son Rocangus, but six braw sojers like us wid be shamed if we couldnae give some crows a guid tanning!”

Rocangus had been standing respectfully to one side. Now he came forward and bowed his head to the Laird.

“Faither, ’tis yerself. Och, am Ah glad t’see ye. Yon riverdog is Thrugg, the wee mousey is Dumble. They found me wi’ mah wing brokit an’ fixed it up. Ah should be flying again soon.”

Laird Mactalon inspected the dressing on his son’s wing, then proffered a talon to the otter. “Ah’m beholden to ye, Thrugg. Mah son should be thankful he met sich bonny decent creatures as ye an’ yer wee friend there. We’ll talk some mair later. Sit ye down while Ah deal wi’ yonder bunch o’ disgraceful birds.”

Now the cawing and dancing had increased to fever pitch and the bolder crows were beginning to hop toward the streambed. Laird Mactalon and his clanbirds broke cover. They stood in a line on the banktop and threw back their heads.

“Kreeeekah, tak’ nae prisoners, give nae quarter, kreeekah!”

As if by magic, the crows fell silent and ceased dancing. Laird Mactalon and his falcons started walking toward them with a definite warlike swagger, chests puffed and neckfeathers spread wide, their talons crunching the dead bracken as they went. The front crows hopped backwards. Mactalon threw out his bold challenge and walked forward alone ahead of the others.

“Och, come on, laddies. We’re no a babbie mouse and a wounded young un, or an earthbound riverdog. See if ye can do any better against us. Ah’m the Laird Mactalon, as well ye know. Ah’ll do battle wi’ ye on land or in the air. Dinnae keep retreatin’. Whit’s the matter? Surely you’re no’ frighted?”

All the time he was talking, Mactalon had been advancing. With the speed of a whipcrack he suddenly hurled himself into the crows. In the melee that followed, four crows were stretched out by the deadly beak and raking talons of the Laird. The other crows took to the air in an awkward flurry. They were met by the five falcon warriors, who hit them like thunderbolts.