Post by Pavane on Jun 9, 2011 3:48:16 GMT -5
"The winter brings the snow,
The cold wind sings to go -
It's time, it's time -
To fly the line -
It's time for us to go -
Take wing, it's time to go!"
It's the wrong song for the season, of course - Sedge is flying towards the ice fields, not away from them - but that doesn't stop the tundra swan from trumpeting out the traditional song as his wings beat through the air. He's too late to join with his family's flock this season, and so the only audience to his song is himself and the occasional other bird passing beneath him. But that's audience enough for him! Singing is a good way to pass the time. He's nearly to the pond where he's intending to make a stopover, and just in time, too - he's run out of verses!
A yearling hare quivers beneath the cover of a bush, her eyes wide as they flit about. Cotton is nervous, her nostrils flared at the scent of water but too hesitant to step forward.
As Sedge glides in toward the pond, he begins to notice that there's more wrong than just his song for the season. The land looks worn out, the patches of greenery tired - as though it's already late summer, not still springtime. He hasn't lost that much time to his wandering. What's going on here?
Cotton needs that drink. "Just gotta do it, just gotta do it..." she mutters to herself, nose twitching, and then she hops forward towards the water. She has a limp, favoring one hindleg in a way that seems to indicate a recent injury.
"Brothers! Brothers! Come and see!" comes the harsh caw of a crow, and a moment later, other corvid voices join in. One of the trees seems to come alive, the dark bodies nestled among its leaves rising into flight. There are scattered words, among the cawing. "Swan!" calls one, and "Rabbit!" cries another. One of them, from the middle of the mob, caws, "Dinner!" and the whole bursts into raucous laughter, the crows swirling around each other in a black mass.
Sedge lands smoothly on the water's surface just as the crows start to caw. He ruffles up his wings, not sure what all the fuss is about, and tries to apply reason to the boiling mass of crows. "Hello there?"
Cotton freezes as the cawing begins, the brown hare pressing herself to the dusty ground. They - did they see her? Are they going to... no, no. Calm. Gotta stay calm. Gotta be... gotta be smooth. Smooth, like... like... and she can't help trembling at the memory.
The first crow dives down from the mob, talons extended towards the hare as the rest continue to circle, still cawing with laughter. There must be over a dozen of them gathered here, their black feathers shiny and sleek. These are well-fed birds, despite the picked-over nature of the foliage here.
Startled, it takes Sedge a moment to realize what the crow is doing, to locate the hare against the ground. "What? There's no need for that!" he says. "She didn't do anything!"
No! Cotton lets out a high shriek, and she bolts, bounding off with a sideways jerk that dodges her away from the diving crow. She winces as her injured hindleg hits the ground, but she keeps running, ignoring the pain in her frantic need to get away, to escape. This can't end here - not after everything she's been through!
"Mind yer own business," calls one of the crows, flapping out from the mob towards Sedge. The rest give chase to the fleeing hare, another diving as the first pulls up after missing, and then another, and another. The cloud becomes a straggling line, as each failed strike means that crow falls behind, to the tail end of the group - but there's so many of them that it seems there's always one ready to dive for Cotton, flapping wings catching up even to frantic bounding.
"But..." says Sedge, and trails off. The hare is already gone, the storm of crows chasing after her. And what could he do, anyhow? Get himself pecked at and torn by their talons as he tried to defend her? He's of no use here. With a heavy heart, he beats his wings against the air and rises again. His pleasant stopover has turned dark, and he wants nothing more than to be gone, despite his tiredness.
Cotton runs with all her might, zigging and zagging across the picked-bare plains. She takes a glancing strike to one shoulder that makes her stagger, but manages to roll to her side and avoid the peck that follows it. Still alive - but it's cost her precious time, and the mob of crows draws closer, their caws loud and mocking in her ears.
Another crow dives for the hare, and his claws snatch at her neck - and manage to find a grip, catching at the loose fur there. "Brothers, come!" he caws, opening his wings to flap and try to lift her - or at least hold her back from flight.
Cotton shrieks again, struggling without success to keep running, trying to buck the crow off her back with a writhing motion. "No! No, no, nooooo!" she cries out, as spots of blood well up around the corvid's talons. "Let me go!"
More of the crows descend, clustering around Cotton. Some of them land on her back, latching their talons on to her fur, while others simply drop to the ground nearby, hopping forward and leaning in to snatch at her flanks with their beaks, pulling at the flesh. The hare screams as her brown pelt disappears entirely underneath the black of this murder of crows, her shrieking cries growing sharp - and then, abruptly, silenced.
"When danger comes in sight -
And food is hard to find -
When terrors stalk the night -
A feast for all crow-kind."
The cold wind sings to go -
It's time, it's time -
To fly the line -
It's time for us to go -
Take wing, it's time to go!"
It's the wrong song for the season, of course - Sedge is flying towards the ice fields, not away from them - but that doesn't stop the tundra swan from trumpeting out the traditional song as his wings beat through the air. He's too late to join with his family's flock this season, and so the only audience to his song is himself and the occasional other bird passing beneath him. But that's audience enough for him! Singing is a good way to pass the time. He's nearly to the pond where he's intending to make a stopover, and just in time, too - he's run out of verses!
A yearling hare quivers beneath the cover of a bush, her eyes wide as they flit about. Cotton is nervous, her nostrils flared at the scent of water but too hesitant to step forward.
As Sedge glides in toward the pond, he begins to notice that there's more wrong than just his song for the season. The land looks worn out, the patches of greenery tired - as though it's already late summer, not still springtime. He hasn't lost that much time to his wandering. What's going on here?
Cotton needs that drink. "Just gotta do it, just gotta do it..." she mutters to herself, nose twitching, and then she hops forward towards the water. She has a limp, favoring one hindleg in a way that seems to indicate a recent injury.
"Brothers! Brothers! Come and see!" comes the harsh caw of a crow, and a moment later, other corvid voices join in. One of the trees seems to come alive, the dark bodies nestled among its leaves rising into flight. There are scattered words, among the cawing. "Swan!" calls one, and "Rabbit!" cries another. One of them, from the middle of the mob, caws, "Dinner!" and the whole bursts into raucous laughter, the crows swirling around each other in a black mass.
Sedge lands smoothly on the water's surface just as the crows start to caw. He ruffles up his wings, not sure what all the fuss is about, and tries to apply reason to the boiling mass of crows. "Hello there?"
Cotton freezes as the cawing begins, the brown hare pressing herself to the dusty ground. They - did they see her? Are they going to... no, no. Calm. Gotta stay calm. Gotta be... gotta be smooth. Smooth, like... like... and she can't help trembling at the memory.
The first crow dives down from the mob, talons extended towards the hare as the rest continue to circle, still cawing with laughter. There must be over a dozen of them gathered here, their black feathers shiny and sleek. These are well-fed birds, despite the picked-over nature of the foliage here.
Startled, it takes Sedge a moment to realize what the crow is doing, to locate the hare against the ground. "What? There's no need for that!" he says. "She didn't do anything!"
No! Cotton lets out a high shriek, and she bolts, bounding off with a sideways jerk that dodges her away from the diving crow. She winces as her injured hindleg hits the ground, but she keeps running, ignoring the pain in her frantic need to get away, to escape. This can't end here - not after everything she's been through!
"Mind yer own business," calls one of the crows, flapping out from the mob towards Sedge. The rest give chase to the fleeing hare, another diving as the first pulls up after missing, and then another, and another. The cloud becomes a straggling line, as each failed strike means that crow falls behind, to the tail end of the group - but there's so many of them that it seems there's always one ready to dive for Cotton, flapping wings catching up even to frantic bounding.
"But..." says Sedge, and trails off. The hare is already gone, the storm of crows chasing after her. And what could he do, anyhow? Get himself pecked at and torn by their talons as he tried to defend her? He's of no use here. With a heavy heart, he beats his wings against the air and rises again. His pleasant stopover has turned dark, and he wants nothing more than to be gone, despite his tiredness.
Cotton runs with all her might, zigging and zagging across the picked-bare plains. She takes a glancing strike to one shoulder that makes her stagger, but manages to roll to her side and avoid the peck that follows it. Still alive - but it's cost her precious time, and the mob of crows draws closer, their caws loud and mocking in her ears.
Another crow dives for the hare, and his claws snatch at her neck - and manage to find a grip, catching at the loose fur there. "Brothers, come!" he caws, opening his wings to flap and try to lift her - or at least hold her back from flight.
Cotton shrieks again, struggling without success to keep running, trying to buck the crow off her back with a writhing motion. "No! No, no, nooooo!" she cries out, as spots of blood well up around the corvid's talons. "Let me go!"
More of the crows descend, clustering around Cotton. Some of them land on her back, latching their talons on to her fur, while others simply drop to the ground nearby, hopping forward and leaning in to snatch at her flanks with their beaks, pulling at the flesh. The hare screams as her brown pelt disappears entirely underneath the black of this murder of crows, her shrieking cries growing sharp - and then, abruptly, silenced.
"When danger comes in sight -
And food is hard to find -
When terrors stalk the night -
A feast for all crow-kind."