The world is blurry, fading at the edges, but he still manages to see the hawk sitting above him in the bare-branched tree. He blinks twice. The world is blurry, fading at the edges and he can't feel his legs anymore. He remembers, the way the hawk had turned its beady black eyes on him. He remembers, the way the world fades around him. He remembers, the motion the bird made as it spread it's wings. He remembers, a flash of white, the exposed wing, a rush of air. A hawk-cry that pierces the world around him.

And then there is no more.