The Simorgh swooped down from the clouds, thrust out her claws and lifted the babe from the torrid rock, then carried him to that point of the Alborz mountains where lay her eyrie and her brood. She offered him to them for a victim, urging them to pay no heed to his bitter weeping. But God the beneficent delivered him and granted him hope of the prolongation of his life, while the Simorgh stood gazing in astonishment at the little babe with the tears of blood trickling from his eyes. Picking out the tenderest portions of her own prey she fed her milk-starved guest on their blood.