"I'm flying through the air, gazing at the open tundra. I'm not hunting for myself, I'm hunting for my babies. I see a lemming, I swoop down towards it. The small lump of meat doesn't hear a sound; it has no awareness of me until my talons pierce its sides and I carry it into the sky. It squirms, squeaks, and then grows still. I transfer it to my beak, and fly it on home. I introduce it to its new companions, all laid in a circle around my eggs. My mate arrives bringing a vole, which she lays down next to mine. We've already filled in the circle, but there is still room for more in our family. For that is what they are now, family. In killing them we've adopted them. Their bodies now line the nest whole, and after they are consumed, they will line it in pieces. Our babies will regurgitate the fur and bones, which will mingle with our feathers, and help keep the babies warm.
In life these creatures served only themselves, death makes them more charitable. In death, they provide food and warmth to those not of their species; in death, we make them into a true circle of life."
"This is our design."