A Hawaiian Petrel

Each evening he returns home, flying across a vast expanse of cobalt blue. A day of feeding has come to an end and it's time to rest. Looking for his home island, a tiny speck of copper orange on the horizon. He glides on the winds, guided by intuition, vague forms of stars and running away from the setting sun. Emerging bright lights of civilization help refine his aim as the night darkens. He wonders how his ancestors made the journey without these beacons.

With the hard work of finding the rock in the ocean complete, all he must do now is head to his nest. Flying down the shore South, over forests and farmland, the terrain gradually morphs into a dry, cakey, oppressive expanse. Up high above the ocean on a series of cragged rocks is where he finally calls home. No other lifeforms can disturb him here, that's good, he doesn't like to be disturbed. A solitary life out at sea punctuated by a brief nights rest in inaccessible locales makes for a lonely existence. His species have been doing this for thousands of years. It's him, it's his nature, and who's to say what a Hawaiian Petrel should or shouldn't do?