This is the opening scene of "Season of Crows."
Ash
twitched his tail as he watched the nearly naked chick plummet to
earth from its nest. Its tiny body with its fragile outstretched
wings tumbled through the air, spinning in sickening cartwheels until
it landed in the high green and gold grass of the meadow. Ash looked
up to see a jet black crow clutching the little fellow’s sibling in
its beak. With a triumphant cackle, it flapped its wings and flew off
to the oak wood across the way, its meal dangling limply from its
greedy mouth.
The
chick’s parents were nowhere to be seen. Perhaps they were
driven off by that crow, Ash thought grimly. The young mouse made
his way along the well-worn path that wove between the clumps of
grass growing near the meadow’s edge. When he reached the spot
where he thought the chick had landed, he set down his gathering
basket and scanned the ground. A slight gasp from above startled him,
and he jumped back, ready to spring for safety.
Caught in a clump of
last year’s dried grass stalks, the body of the chick hung upside
down, its tiny bright beak opening and closing, uttering only a faint
gasp. Carefully parting the grasses so as not to let the chick fall
further, Ash clamored up the stiff shafts until he reached the little
fellow. Placing his mouth gingerly around its middle like a mother
mouse, Ash climbed back down and set the chick on the cool earth. He
examined it carefully. Its skin was a ruddy pink and dotted with
bizarrely placed patches of fluffy down. The beak was bright and
wide, revealing a red, hungry throat as it opened and closed in
silent cries. It had no eyes, only the bulging blue promise of them
beneath transparent eyelids. To Ash's dismay, the chick’s left wing
stuck out at an odd angle. Broken at the shoulder, I’d imagine,
the young mouse thought.
High
above him, the nest sat cockeyed in the crook of a branch, ripped
grasses and fibers dangling loosely. The parents were certain not to
return to such a nest. Ash glanced out over the meadow, scratching at
his torn ear as he searched for wisdom. What would his mother and
father have done? Would they have let nature take its course and
leave the chick as it lay, or would they follow their hearts and take
the injured chick back to Evershade? Ash didn’t even know what kind
of bird it was. Would it grow to be a hunter, endangering the
residents of Evershade if it were allowed to stay?
The
little fellow's bright yellow beak opened and closed again as its
tiny chest rose and fell rapidly. In a moment Ash had made his
decision. He would take this tiny hatchling to Evershade and present
it to the king. His Majesty could decide what to do with it.
Please visit Amazon or Barnes and Noble to order your copy of “Season of Crows” today, and please remember to leave a review once you’ve read it. (I now review every book I read because I know how important they are for authors.)
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