He accelerated quickly, the wind whipping through his plumage. Straightening his wings, his descent leveled, then reversed into an upward tilt. Pumping powerful muscles he thrust his wings down, gaining altitude. Behind he heard his mate flap against the air.
They were leaving.
The spot in the desert where they'd settled had too little prey, and they'd lost their eggling to malnutrition. So now they beat their wings to go higher than they did to hunt. He embraced the cold as he burst through a tuft of cloud, leaving a hole through it. Once above it the wind had less pull this way or that, and he could see only sky.
His breath came with a slight, pleasant burn. He would test his limits, flying where the air was thin all day. When he landed again he would find himself stronger, with more endurance. For a while.
If he decided to land. For now, he was king of the sky.
Picture found here: http://browse.deviantart.com/art/Take-Off-From-Sunset-City-271859059