The vulture's proud Gaze

"I was at my boxing gym, with all the other students training around me on the ground. My coach was holding the pads for me, and I was hitting them, but something was off. My technique was wrong, and he grew angry. He went off to find a stone, dropped it, and picked up a big branch lying on a roof. Bees swarmed around the branch. When he lifted it, they rose with it, carrying it a little, irritated at being disturbed. Everyone in the class scattered, running for shelter. My coach stood calmly and watched the bees, and I did the same. I wasn't afraid. Then something began pushing the branch from underneath. There was a hole in the roof leading to a kind of attic, and out from beneath the decayed log came four or five vultures. They lifted it as my coach let go, and flew off with it. One of them, the leader, stopped in midair and looked straight at me. Our eyes locked. It seemed to be studying me, and somehow it seemed proud of me. Then it turned and flew away. When I woke up, I felt different, quiet and vague about life, as if something had shifted that I couldn't put into words. The vulture's gaze stayed with me for a long while."