An old vulture sits on a branch, his eyes dim, his hearing all but gone. He watches leaves fall and smiles, thinking of the life he has had. It wasn't so bad.

The wind brings a scream to him. From above. He squints but can't see much. But he knows what he hears. It's her, the nice woman who leaves food out for him sometimes. The scream again. From right above him this time.

He jumps off the branch and falls on his face. Everything hurts. He takes a few steps and flaps his old wings, once, twice, and then on and on until his bird body remembers itself and he doesn't have to try anymore. Everything still hurts.

The scream again. Closer this time. Right ahead. She sees him, takes his name. He squawks, saying he is coming, but perhaps he is not loud enough.

He flaps his wings harder and faster and flies right into the side of what seems like a metal vessel. It smells of rakshas. The vulture blinks, sees the woman, sees a man twice his size, feels a blow, loses the lower half of his beak.

He squawks, making threats, hoping the rakshas will pay heed. He hears metal ring, a blade. Squinting, he dodges, hears the blade clang before the rakshas lifts it to swing again. He blunders forward, slashing at his opponent blindly and miraculously, manages to draw blood.

He might win this yet, he thinks, like a foolish old man. Hopes rising, he slashes again.

But the rakshas is behind him. He hears the woman scream before he sees the tip of the blade sticking out of his chest before he feels the pain. He turns to look at the woman, but can't find her. Her screams have turned to sobs and he is falling through the air and watching the metal vessel grow smaller against the blue. Everything hurts.

He breaks three branches with his beak before he breaks his beak against the ground. The pain starts to go away, little by little. He hears someone calling out his name. It's that nice man, the one who lives with that nice woman. He should tell him. He tries.

An old vulture breathes his last, in the arms of a weeping man, his last memory a regret.