The cold biting wind was driving through him and little drops of moisture in the air clung on to his feathers,  turning immediately to ice in the bitterly cold and cruel sub zero wind. 

 When Canana had flown two days previously with his mother, the weather had been different. It had been a crisp and clear day, one of those beautiful winter days that somehow seem warmer then they really are. 

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     Today was different. There was a cruel and evil sky that brought a mix of icy winds from the east and rolling mist out of the south. Where the two met over the valley, a blanket of freezing fog settled below.  It also brought strong gusts that whistled through the mountains causing wind currents to swirl about in maddening eddies. It was one such gust that caught Canana, when he took the air.  It wrapped the young eagle in its deadly grip and threw him in a downward spiral over which he had no possible control.

*

   Canana was afraid. He was frightened of the cold which seemed to freeze his very blood. He felt that at any moment he would stiffen and loose control over his desperate movements. Already he was beginning to weaken. His desperate fight against the relentless wind and the heavy weight of ice forming on his feathers was now sapping the last of his strength.  But above this, Canana was afraid of the sky. So much had he always desired to challenge this enormous void of space, to dive, swoop and glide among those invisible currents of air. Only now his desires had turned to fear. The sky had become his master, and it was a cruel master, punishing him for his rashness and folly.
   Yet still Canana struggled, refusing to let the inevitable happen. Up and down he pumped his heavy wings, desperately trying to find one of those magical air currents that are the mere playthings of the Great Eagle. Only to discover that they were unattainable to his inexperienced wings. As the eaglet tumbled, he began to feel the pressure from the down draught begin to ease. But it was to late, Canana's wings did not have the power to slow down the momentum of his fall. And, as Canana felt and saw, the valley floor was drawing nearer.
   Amidst the mountains surrounding the Guadalquivir, there are many secret paths and passes. Of the latter, one is named the "Silbido" or the whistling gap, and it certainly lived up to the name.

    It only required a small steady breeze of wind to enter the pass, where it would grow and swirl, gaining velocity as it blew through the many rocks, tunnels and chasms that lined the pass. When the wind eventually leaves, it emerges as a violent gust, and with its exit, a strong almost musical whistle is sent down into the valley below, almost as if the wind was grateful to be free at last.

   Canana heard this whistle as he was still rapidly falling. He noticed it subconsciously, his active mind still trying desperately to send the right signals to his inexperienced limbs. He did not think that the whistling was connected to the strong updraft that suddenly broke his fall and sent him spinning and tumbling away from the immediate danger of collision with the mountains side. It was this remarkable stroke of luck; and it saved the young Eaglets life that day.
   Canana was indeed a large and strong bird for his age. All his mothers praise that one day he would be the greatest flyer in the valley was not without foundation. His natural instinct for survival took control. Spreading his wings in tune with the draft, he finally managed to ride on one of those long looked for air currents.
   "I've done it", he screamed out to world, his shrill cry trembling with a mixture of elation and relieved fear as the current pushed him further away from the mountain side, where only a few brief seconds earlier, his short life had nearly ended.
   Alas his triumph was short lived. Having virtually no experience in the art of flight, the relentless cold, and the pure physical exertions of his struggle combined to rob him of the saving air current. Once more the young eaglet began to fall. Down and down he fell yet again, pumping frantically to gain some sort of control, hoping beyond hope to remain aloft and avoid the collision that had only been delayed at the Silbido pass. It was not to be. Luck had already laid her hand on the Eaglet that day, unfortunately there was to be no second time.
   Canana crashed into the ground with a sickening thud. A jolt of excruciating pain surged through his whole body, making him scream out in agony. As he lay there his entire body seemed to be crying out with suffering and anguish-but he was alive-and at least for that he could be thankful.
   Canana lay among the rocks, his broken body screaming its painful torment, his mind telling him to find some form of warmth and shelter. To get out of the crippling cold, and more importantly, away from any predator that may be skulking around. Twice he tried to stand and twice he fell. Both falls sending fresh waves of agony through his already tortured frame. Fighting of pain and an enfolding sense of darkness, Canana attempted to stand for the third time and succeeded only in toppling over a small embankment. Down he rolled into what many years ago had been a small river that teemed with fish and now was nothing but an empty gully abandoned by water due to the man-made irrigation systems.
   His injured, pain-wracked body could take no more. As he stopped rolling and came to rest below an overhang of bush and earth, he finally fell into the welcoming arms of unconsciousness.

   There undoubtedly the Eaglet would have lain until his death. But fate is often a cruel companion and it had other plans for Canana. His life was not ready to end there among the rocks and stones in the Guadalquivir.