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in escaping his grip and fall back into the trap.
    The bird continued struggling and groaning. He was trying to figure out what had gotten into it when a shadow fell across him, a silhouette characterized by a long, graceful neck and a sword-like proboscis.
    The bladebeak. The adult one.
    The bird was right behind him, in a prime position to strike. There was no way he could avoid a deathblow from its beak at this range, nor did he have a weapon at hand to parry it (not to mention the fact that he was facing the wrong way).
    Slowly, carefully, Errol turned until he faced the adult bladebeak. The animal was eyeing him intently from less than a foot away. (Somehow, it had not only gotten the piece of bark off its beak, but had also extricated itself from the bola.) Its gazed shifted momentarily to the young bird in Errol’s grip, then back to him.
    After a few seconds (during which Errol barely breathed, let alone moved), it became clear that the larger bladebeak was waiting for something. When its gaze shifted once again to the bird that he was still holding, Errol knew what it was. Calmly and deliberately, he bent down and placed the still-struggling young bird that he held on the ground. He gave a slight tug on one end of the cloth that he had tied around its beak and the material came loose, allowing the young bird to chirp noisily and freely, obviously happy to be near its parent once again. However, when it tried to move, it tripped, hindered by additional ribbons of cloth Errol had tied around its feet.
    Errol reached out to free the chick and it stabbed its beak at him, almost impaling his hand as it hissed angrily at him. Suddenly, the adult bladebeak warbled something and its offspring immediately became silent and still. The larger bird continued to eyeball Errol, who stood completely still, afraid of making any gesture that would be interpreted as threatening.
    The adult bird, seemingly exasperated, made a weird clucking sound after a few seconds, and then craned its head forward. Before Errol realized what was happening, it had his right hand in its beak. Much to his surprise, it tugged his hand towards the chick. At that moment, realization dawned on Errol.
    The bladebeak released its grip on his hand, and Errol used the opportunity to untie the younger bird, which stood amazingly still until he had removed the strip of shirt from its legs. Then it dashed over to its parent, rubbing itself lovingly against the larger bird’s legs.
    The adult bird continued looking at Errol, gazing at him in a way that made him nervous, as if assessing him. Errol was pretty certain it was preparing to strike; he had battled it earlier – come close to killing it, in fact – and had badly frightened its child. On top of that, it was a predatory animal; killing other living things was in its nature.
    When the adult bladebeak moved its head, Errol was positive that it was the killing blow, probably coming to take his head off. Instead, the bird’s head dipped under its wing, where it seemed to shuttle its beak back and forth as if looking for something. After a few moments, the head withdrew, holding in its beak a brilliant indigo feather – a color that Errol had not noticed amongst its plumage.
    The bird extended its head towards Errol, dipping its beak down until it was about level with Errol’s stomach. It appeared to be offering the indigo feather to him. Slowly, he turned up his right palm and extended his hand until it was just below the bird’s bill.
    Unexpectedly, the bird made a jerking motion with its head, and the next second Errol inhaled sharply as he felt a stinging pain in his hand. The quill of the feather, as sharp as a needle, had pierced his palm. As a result, the feather itself was sticking straight up from the center of his hand.
    The adult bladebeak gave him one final glance, and then warbled again before moving off into the depths of the forest with its offspring following close behind. Errol gingerly