Soaring high above the ground, the siege of cranes alters its direction and heads toward the bog, at least ten miles distant. The large old male at the tip of the “V” formation glances to his right at his spouse. Supposedly monogamous for life, the crane has come to symbolize both loyalty and honour. Long-legged yet graceful, notoriously faithful but still a drifter. The female returns the glance, but with a look of annoyance in her eyes. The flock take to gliding for a bit, before resuming their constant quick upward wingbeat followed by a longer downward one. They work together, in unison, like a large steel machine, aware that each part must have the cooperation of the other in order to succeed. Nearing the bog, an ideal breeding and nesting ground, the group prepares to descend. The big lead male steals another glance, but this time at a younger female towards the back. Upon approaching the chosen spot, the siege of cranes scatter, ensuring that each member has enough space to ground themselves safely. They swiftly spread out over the land nearby, blanketing the area in a sea of feathers and beaks. The old male crane wanders towards the bog, seeking out his young female companion, to the dismay of his alleged mate. She gazes furiously at the two, a desire for vengeance welling up inside her soft, fluffy body. The two ignore her look and make their way to the valley where the bog lies, intent on refreshing themselves after a long journey. The gently sloping hills surrounding the hollow are sparsely covered in low-lying vegetation, ensuring that they cranes are relatively safe from the threat of predators. A thick layer of peat masks the bog and lends it a greenish tinge, but the two majestic birds walk doggedly towards it, fixed on having a drink. As they near the bog’s edge, a head appears at the top of the hill behind them, peering down. It is the old crane’s mate. She knows that she has been betrayed; the loyalty that she so admired, tarnished. The two are oblivious to her presence and the old crane steps nimbly into the bog, leaning forward slightly and stretching out his long neck to taste the water. But he stops, sensing something, and stands upright, tense. A violent shock reverberates through the air, like thunder with no sound. The young female seeks out the old crane and finds him unmoving, stuck in place like a statue. She lifts her neck and beak to the skies above, and emits a trumpeting blast as if to ask ‘Why?’ The female mate stands unflinching at the top of the hill, eyes locked on her old spouse with indifference. The code of the crane is shattered; the loyalty and honour that had once been the rule, now forgotten. Punishment exacted, vengeance had. The old crane is destined to remain there, frozen, for eternity. [G.M. Giacomelli]