FIGHTING WORDS

I watched him all morning, raring up, wings beating in a frenzy, attacking his reflection in the window over and over. In his eyes this was a formidable foe, matching his unrelenting zeal and aggression and (suspiciously) the same offensive maneuvers. The battle was painfully long but necessary considering what was at stake... his home, his mate, his nest.
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A true protector does not wait to be encroached upon but sits as a watchman, looking to divert danger before it steps into his territory. He positions himself between harm and home, as a soldier, risking life and wing to protect. Devoted to what has been entrusted to him, he will catch a flicker of light and red in a window and take those as fighting words. What glory that is to his home.