The Battle of the Eagle and the Loon
Some fight to win. Others survive by never becoming the target.
There was, and there was not, a time when the Raven sat at the edge of a serene lake, her feathers ruffled by the faintest breeze. She watched the surface glimmer, knowing the stillness would not last. Something stirred above.
High in the sky, a bald eagle circled, wings wide and deliberate. Its eyes burned with hunger. Below, a loon traced a dark line across the water, calm, steady, unbothered.
The Raven tilted her head. A contest? A lesson?
The eagle tucked its wings and fell, a shadow slicing the air. The Raven’s chest tightened at the speed, the power. Yet at the very last instant, the loon slipped beneath the surface, vanishing into silence. The eagle’s talons closed on nothing.
The Raven exhaled softly. Gone, as if it had never been.
Again the eagle rose, again it dove. Each strike was perfect in aim but empty in result. The loon surfaced only when the danger had passed, each time gliding further from the predator’s reach. Not frantic, measured, aware.
From her branch, the Raven felt a flicker of unease. Why does the loon not fight? Why does it not lash out or claw for survival? She had been taught to meet force with force, to seize the advantage before it slipped away. Yet here was a creature who refused the terms of the battle entirely.
The eagle’s movements grew heavier. Its dives carried less certainty now, its wings labored. The loon, untouched, circled once, then turned toward the far shore. The contest was over before either declared victory.
The Raven’s feathers settled against her body. In the Kingdom of Trade, we are told to conquer, to press forward, to endure any wound if it means the prize. But perhaps this is not the only way. Perhaps strength is not always in the strike, but in knowing when the strike is not worth answering.
She watched the eagle peel away, carrying its hunger elsewhere. The loon disappeared into the reeds, leaving nothing behind but ripples that quickly smoothed into stillness.
The Raven lingered, her mind alive with the rhythm she had seen: pursuit, evasion, restraint. She lifted her wings at last, carrying with her the simple truth that strength is not only the power to strike, but also the wisdom to walk away, to live unscarred for another day.
© 2025 Sarah Dooley. Story and images by the author. All rights reserved.
