For Janney rook, casualties are merely a last chance to feast. Soon, there would be a little left but scraps to sustain him through a brutal winter. The last fledglings now make a leaper faith. Once on the wing, they may not come to shore for a decade, and then only to breed. From now on, they are migrants. Circling the sullen world, wading to brilliant skies and sleeping at solely bounds of life