Blood Feather and Soft Feather

crowby Melissa Monks

This way. And that way. The thing wasn’t shiny. Soft Feather wanted shiny. In the nest it should be shiny. He chided. And chided. Too near him, Blood Feather shifted from foot to foot to foot to foot. The not shiny thing was a troubling mystery. Soft Feather chided. Blood Feather shifted. Soft Feather rubbed his head into the not shiny thing’s fat pinkness. Smooth. Still warm. Half furry. Soft Feather regarded Blood Feather. This way and that. Blood Feather was a troubling mystery herself. Every crow knows that a thing can be understood, even the not shiny, half furry things, if one looks at them this way and that way. But perhaps not Blood Feather. Blood Feather shifted. Soft Feather explored. The not shiny, half furry thing had eyes. Front eyes, like the dirty no feathers. The sky cloggers. The river chokers. But it was too small. Soft Feather poked his beak, this time, at the not shiny, half furry thing’s fat pinkness. Blood Feather shifted. This way. And that. The pinkness gave. Then came back. Like an all furry thing. But so small for a front eye. And incomplete. It dripped. Soft Feather suspected its smallness and incompleteness were dependent upon each other. Soft Feather regarded Blood Feather. She spread her wings. He chided. She folded. She shifted. This way and that.

Blood Feather urged. Soft Feather stabbed a front eye. This way. Bluer. That way. It held the sky. His beak sunk in the soft, watery meat. And it was good. But troubling. Soft Feather pulled his beak from the eye. Sucking. Dripping. Blood Feather shifted. This way. And that. The size. The size, Blood Feather. How did you get one this size? This way. Blood Feather tugged golden curly fur. She urged. Across the nest. That way. Red. Soft Feather conceded. Indeed, it filled the nest. Flowed and overflowed. Dripped. And dripped. So, not that small.

This way. Blood Feather urged. Soft Feather pushed his beak into the dripping dripping dripping end of the not shiny, half furry thing. And it was warm. Soft Feather withdrew. That way. Soft Feather regarded Blood Feather. He chided. Conceded. She shifted.

This way. Soft Feather paused. Soft Feather listened. Something shrill in the distance. That way.

“My baby! My baby!” Blood Feather mimicked. Soft Feather regarded Blood Feather. A food thing, then. Soft Feather ate. Blood Feather shifted.molotovcocktaillogo

Melissa Monks spends most of her time gardening and writing. She’s super nice, just don’t ever look in her compost bin.
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