A Prey Circle

A feathered crowd of crows jostle together over roadkill. They peck and tear, lift a little in the air allowing other beaks to stab at a morsel. Iridescent black wings flap in the cram and bustle. Above them a hawk hovers. The raptor waits, the crows will eventually fall to squabbling, some will fly away cawing, others will strut the highway seeking other scraps. Then the hawk will descend to rummage the remains only to fly off quickly with a piece of gristle, it often being content to be the prince of the sky and the servant of the mob.