If I close my eyes I can still picture them with their tar-black feathers giving off blue highlights and their great curved beaks and the breastplates they had learned to tolerate—even Inocenta’s Richu allowed her to strap him in. The breastplates shone that day in the strong sunlight. The spurs we had fixed to their heels shone as well, ten-inch blades they could kick an ox to ribbons with, I have seen this.
