Chapter V Death roosts in the Khyber while he preens his wings!
"King--of the Khyber Rifles"
Talbot Mundy
The native, understanding the nature of the little bird, unhesitatingly follows him; but perhaps his steps are too slow for the impatient caller, upon which he flies back, urging him louder, more impatient cries, to hasten, and then darts swiftly forward, as if he would show how quickly he could go to the honey-store, until at last the treasure is reached, the native has applied fire to the bees' nest, and secured the honey, while the little bird preens himself, and chirrups in triumphant notes, as if he were informing the biped that without his aid he never could have found the honey.
"How I Found Livingstone"
Sir Henry M. Stanley
Wisdom throbbing shall you see Central in complexity; From her pasture 'mid the beasts Rise to her ethereal feasts, Not, though lightnings track your wit Starward, scorning them you quit: For be sure the bravest wing preens it in our common spring, Thence along the vault to soar, You with others, gathering more, Glad of more, till you reject Your proud title of elect, Perilous even here while few Roam the arched greenwood with you.
"The Complete Project Gutenberg Works of George Meredith"
George Meredith