The Eagles – The Western Guardians

• Symbolism: United States and allies.

• Traits: Sharp-eyed, swooping from great heights, territorial, claiming to see further than all.

• Conflict: Balancing between protector and predator — do they defend the weak or dominate the skies for themselves?

• Theme: Power cloaked as “freedom,” the duality of protection vs. control.

The Eagles at the Round Table

High above the Round Table, where the winds carried whispers of old wars and new ambitions, the Eagles circled. They descended not with the lumbering pride of the Lions but with the sharpness of wings that cut the sky. Their talons gleamed with steel, their eyes piercing every corner of the horizon.

The Eagles were rulers of the air. They had once risen from obscurity, climbing above the ancient prides when the world was at its bloodiest.

With each war, they soared higher, until their shadows blanketed oceans and mountains alike. No beast could move without the Eagles seeing it.

No feast could be claimed without their permission.

At the Round Table, the largest Eagle perched at the head, his feathers strong, his wings stretched so wide that even the Lions, once kings, had to hunch beneath his shadow. His name was not spoken aloud, but all knew him — the Eagle of the West. His wings carried both the promise of protection and the threat of suffocation.

Beside him sat smaller Eagles — allies and kin — who flapped their wings to echo his cries. Together, they called themselves the guardians of the valley, the keepers of order. They claimed their flight was not for conquest but for peace.

But the beasts below whispered otherwise.

The Lions muttered that the Eagles had stolen the crowns they once wore. The Bears grumbled that the skies had never belonged to any creature alone. The Dragons coiled tighter, watching silently, waiting for the moment when wings would tire. Even the Wolves looked up, some in awe, others in envy, knowing that the Eagles’ reach could crush or lift them depending on the day.

At the table, the Eagle of the West spread his wings and spoke:

"We see further than all of you. We strike swifter than all of you. We guard this valley from chaos. Without us, the Round Table would splinter into war."

His voice was thunder, his gaze unflinching.

The Lions roared back: "Guardians? You swoop where profit lies. You call it order, but your talons grip too tightly. The table creaks not from chaos, but from the weight of your shadow."

The Eagle did not flinch. He spread his wings wider. "Better the shadow of one who watches than the fire of those who scheme in silence."

His eyes flickered toward the Dragon.

The Dragon did not speak, but its golden eyes glowed like embers beneath its scales.

Meanwhile, the Wolves whispered among themselves. Some longed for the protection of the Eagle’s wings. Others dreamed of a day when packs, not wings, would decide the fate of the valley.

The Bears, growling low, clawed the earth as if daring the Eagle to descend into their frozen forests.

Yet, for all the murmurs, no beast challenged the Eagles outright. For the truth was clear: their wings still commanded the sky, their talons still held the power to decide life or death in an instant.

But in the distance, the younger beasts sharpened their teeth, coiled their tails, and gathered in silence. They knew wings grew weary with age, feathers molted, storms could tear through the sky.

And so the Eagles remained — both guardians and predators, perched proudly at the Round Table. Their cry still echoed louder than any roar, but beneath it ran a question that no wing could silence:

Would the sky always belong to them, or would the day come when their shadow no longer stretched across the valley?