S. - Ship of Theseus - Pg 177

 Outside, the vulture circles, somehow unfazed by the fusillade of bullets, one of which scorched the edge of a tail feather. It circles and circles, tipping this way and that, snapping its wings as it encounters a cool downdraft, tipping and flapping and circling, on and ever on. Whether it is brave or ignorant or simply incapable of choosing to do anything else, we can only surmise.