The Mongol Eagles

Steppe dawn, 1211 — frost biting through felt and leather. The falconers of Genghis Khan stood in silence as the eagles blinked under their hoods. When the command came, they released them into the pale wind — dark wings fanning out over the ridgeline where enemy scouts rode unaware.

These were golden eagles, bred for strength, trained on hares and wolves, then turned toward men. Their handlers whistled once, the birds stooped, and the riders went down claw-first. Afterward the men retrieved the eagles, fed them scraps of meat, and packed them in wicker cages for the next border.

When the empire spread from one sea to another, the eagles followed, their flight etched on maps no one kept. The chronicles call it ingenuity. The birds just called it hunger.