²

So while he knew that he was seeing a bird, mad-eyed, ragged-feathered, bigger than any eagle, taller than an ostrich, its beack the cruel tearing weapon of a raptor, its feathers the colour of a slate overlaid with an oilslick sheen making a dark rainbow of purples and greens, he really only knew that for an instant, somewhere in the very back of his mind. What he say with his eyes was a woman with raven-black hair, standing where the idea of a bird had been. She was neither young nor old, and she stared at him with a face that might have been carved from obsidian in ancient times, when the world was young. (Gaiman, 2005, p.206).