The Eagles in the Nest

There were once two young eagles in a nest; eagle chicks that were still so young that they couldn’t fly and their feathers were still white and not golden brown like their mothers.

One, because he had been born earlier, was larger and stronger than the other, but because he had had no other company, he had grown close to his brother.

However, one day their mother took him to one side and said to him, “Now you know that you have to kill your younger brother”.

“What?”, he asked, horrified, “How can I kill him? He’s my brother?”.

“It is what Golden eagle chicks have done for centuries”, she explained, “There is not enough food for me to feed two chicks and so one of you must die. The stronger must kill the weaker. It may sound harsh but life is harsh and, if you are to be strong, there is no room for compassion”.

Then the eagle mother said that she would fly away to hunt for food and that she would be gone for some time but that, when she returned, she expected to see only one eagle in the nest.

But then, after their mother had gone, the older brother looked at his younger weaker sibling and didn’t want to kill him.

“What a cruel, unfair thing life is”, he thought, “That I have to kill my own brother”.

He imagined how he would have to do it; either with claw and talon or by pushing his brother out of the nest that was so high up his brother would fall to his death. He thought how sad and frightened his brother would look and how he would cry if he attacked him; his brother who trusted him; who would never imagine that he could hurt him.

“What if it takes a long time to kill him?”, he thought, “Can I really stand to see my brother suffer that much at my hands?”

It would have to be death by pushing, he concluded, and that way be over more quickly.

He imagined his brother falling over the edge of the mountain; hitting the sharp edges of rocks; crying out in bewilderment and pain and with fear in his eyes.

Perhaps he could wait until his brother’s back was turned; yes, that would be better. Then he wouldn’t have to look in his eyes. He would draw his brother’s attention to some pretty mountain flower near to the edge of the nest and then, while his brother was leaning over to look, he would run into him and, with one hard, quick push, it would be over.

“Won’t it be good when we are both grown eagles, like mother”, his little brother asked, happily, “We will have broad wings and golden feathers just like her and we can go flying together, me and my big brother”.

“Yes”, said the older brother, sadly, thinking about flying with his brother, “It will be good”.

“I want to see the whole world”, said the younger brother, “There must be so much world beyond this nest. Miles and miles of it”.

His older brother nodded.

He would tell him; thought the older eagle, that was it. He would have to make him understand that he had no choice. One of them had to die.

But why did one of them have to die? Would it be so terrible if they both lived?

He imagined his mother coming home and seeing them both alive. She would probably kill his younger brother without a second thought. She was ruthless.

Not like him.

But his mother would kill his little brother anyway, if he didn’t; he would die anyway, right?  He was sure of that.

About an hour passed before the mother eagle came home carrying a drooping rabbit in her claws and saw, with a sigh of relief, only one eagle in the nest.

But it was the younger of the two chicks.

“What happened to your brother?”, asked the eagle mother, unhappily, dropping the kill she had brought home into the nest.

“He tried to fly”, said the chick, “I told him he couldn’t; that his wings weren’t ready yet for flying but he wouldn’t listen and then he fell over the edge”.

The eagle mother looked over the edge of the nest and saw a white feathered body lying further down the mountain; its blood staining the rock.

“Well”, said the mother, shrugging, “Eat up. You’re my only son now”.