A blue hawk perches in the stark branches of a mighty oak, stripped bare from winter. The hawk glares over his shoulder, scanning the snow-blanketed meadows and hills around him for movement. Look! A trail of slight indentations is slowly expanding below, creating just enough movement to spot from the lookout above. The great blue beast stretches out his expansive wings, the blood returning to its feathered appendages. Swooping so low as to meet his shadow on the snow, the hawk speeds towards the movement. Eyes alert, beak shut, talons clenched: she is ready to meet her prey.