She laid her eggs
(Sorry, nur in englisch)
She laid her eggs in the warm up-drafts from the sea.
The high cliffs were saturated with warmth from the midsummer sun and had allowed her to fly higher than ever before.
The eggs unfolded as soon as they met the air and started to glide.
The journey had begun.
Those who would land in water would become Krachna, the gracious gliders through waves and air, catching fish in arrowlike blasts of air-bubble covered movement.
Those who would land on the beach would become Kranirchta, the restless walkers between sand and surf, followers of the tides, feeding on what was left behind by the breakers.
Those who would land on the grasslands would become Kranuta, runners with strong legs, using their wings only to elongate their powerful jumps to catch small creatures living in grass, bush and scrawny trees.
Those who would land in the forest would become Krolonja, climbers and jumpers with quick reflexes and bushy tails to navigate the three-dimensional maze of trees, lianas, fungi and overgrowth, saturated with life.
And finally, those few landing on the high cliffs, like their mother once had, would become Kranos, the tireless flyers, masters of the air, catching insects and more substantial prey, living in caverns in the rock which they extended outwards year after year in artful ways of weaving sturdy strands of weed together with branches of the Tnolmas tree, the only tree strong enough to withstand the wind on the cliffs, digging his steel-cable roots into the rock.
From one such branch she had begun her flight this morning, never to return.
Another cycle of life had started.
Hers was over.