his wing, he closed one eye, then the other, herring a soft-finned sea fish (to) skim to move lightly just above a surface (here, the sea) upbraiding scolding Two Stories about Flying and pretended to be falling asleep. Still they took no notice of him. He saw his two brothers and his sister lying on the plateau dozing with their heads sunk into their necks. His father was preening the feathers on his white back.
Only his mother was looking at him. She was standing on a little high hump on the plateau, her white breast thrust forward. Now and again, she tore at a piece of fish that lay at her feet and then scrapped each side of her beak on the rock. The sight of the food maddened him.
How he loved to tear food that way, scrapping his beak now and again to whet it. “Ga, ga, ga,” he cried begging her to bring him some food. “Gaw-col-ah,” she screamed back derisively. But he kept calling plaintively, and after a minute or so he uttered a joyful scream.
His mother had picked up a piece of the fish and was flying across to him with it. He leaned out (to) whet to sharpen derisively in a manner showing someone that she/he is stupid preening making an effort to maintain feathers Two Stories about Flying eagerly, tapping the rock with his feet, trying to get nearer to her as she flew across. But when she was just opposite to him, she halted, her wings motionless, the piece of fish in her beak almost within reach of his beak. He waited a moment in surprise, wondering why she did not come nearer, and then, maddened by hunger, he dived at the fish.
With a loud scream he fell outwards and downwards into space. Then a monstrous terror seized him and his heart stood still. He could hear nothing. But it only lasted a minute.
The next moment he felt his wings spread outwards. The wind rushed against his breast feathers, then under his stomach, and against