The ten-week-old eaglet drowsily wiped his eyes with his wing, then carefully tiptoed out of the nest. His father was sitting on the thickest branch of a tree several dozen meters high, basking his majestic chest in the pleasantly warming rays of the rising sun.

“Good morning, Daddy!” He gently snuggled up to his father’s feet.

“Hello, my son.”

“What are they down there, Daddy?” He pointed his wing down to the ground.

“Those are people.”

“How strange they are. They are naked and have no beaks. Aren’t they cold like this?”

“I can’t know.”

“What are they doing?”

“I think they are communicating quite violently.” The two people shouted at each other, with red faces.

“And what are they doing now? Are they playing?” The two people grabbed each other, stirring up dust in the soft sand.

“Not quite. My wise owl friend said, they are fighting.”

“It looks like they are just playing.”

“This is not like when you and your siblings fight over the last mouse. The owl told me that one of them called the other one big-eared. That is what they fight over.”

“They are so strange.” The little eagle looked at them for a while, then got bored.

The following morning, the young eagle awoke; his father remained. There were more people gathering below them.

“So many people!” he exclaimed.