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175 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1973


In the days of the Dreamtime all swans were white. During that time, two swans rested on a lagoon, unaware that it belonged to the eagle-hawks. The eagle-hawks resented this intrusion, and savagely attacked the swans. Then they picked them up in their sharp, strong claws, and flew with them far to the south. Even while the swans were being carried away to this strange new land other eagle-hawks tore at their wounded bodies, plucking out still more feathers. Finally, the swans were dropped on the rocks of a stony desert.
There, naked and almost dead, the swans heard the call of the black mountain-crows. They looked up and saw hundreds of them; either on the wing or struggling for places on the few branches of the desert trees. “The eagles are our enemies too”, the crows called out, in their strange, croaking voices. “But we won’t let you die. We will send down on the breeze some of our feathers to keep you warm, and when you feel strong enough they will help you to fly again.” The torn-out white feathers of the wounded swans, taking root between the rocks on which they fell, grew into the dainty flannel flowers of the eastern Australian coast, and the blood of the birds was transformed into the blossoms of the scarlet heath. And ever since that day all Australian swans, except for a few white feathers on their wings, have feathers as black as the crows which clad their nakedness and helped them to fly again.