High above the fluffy white clouds, where the wind whispered secrets to the mountain peaks, lived a very proud Eagle. He had eyes like super-duper binoculars and wings so strong they could carry him for miles and miles without a single flap. He loved to stretch his wide, powerful wings and glide on the wind, feeling like the king of the sky.

One sunny afternoon, our Eagle was doing his favorite thing: circling high, high up, looking for a tasty snack. His sharp eyes spotted a little rabbit nibbling grass far below. "Aha!" he thought. "Lunchtime!"

He tucked in his wings and zoomed down, faster and faster! But just as he was about to reach the ground, WHIZZ! Something sharp hit him. "Ouch!" he cried, tumbling through the air.

He landed with a bump on the soft grass, his wing hurting badly. He looked to see what had hit him. It was a long, thin arrow.

And then, he saw something that made his heart feel even sadder. Tied to the back of the arrow, to help it fly straight, were feathers. Not just any feathers... they were *his* feathers! Feathers he had lost a while ago, perhaps when preening or during a playful tussle with the wind. A hunter must have found them and used them for this very arrow.

"Oh dear," the Eagle thought, a sad feeling washing over him. "To be hurt is bad enough. But to see that my own feathers, feathers that once helped me fly so high and free, were used to bring me down... that makes it feel even worse."

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