As if moved by a pirouetting ballerina, the breeze sent ripples over the mottled plain. Clouds dragged behind their tails lazily, their hazy shadows casting the grasslands into grim not-quite silence. She was almost indistinguishable from her surroundings. Once praised for her endurance and rich, wheat colored coat, the mare now swayed — as if part of the grass around her — on unsteady legs, only trekking to the other side of the pasture when the creek overflowed (for that was when the greens were most tender).
Wind pushed again, having no one to torment but the mare and the three gnarled oaks. A raven croaked, the sound seeming to fill the bird’s hollow bones. The equine hesitantly lifted her head from grazing. High above on the other side of the fence, a flock of birds swirled — chattering and splitting the air with their beaks as they dove. Envy shone in the mare’s eyes.
The mare turned back to grazing — but her attention was caught by a young raven perched on the fence nearby. Cocking his head curiously, the raven drew a snort from the mare. Scruffy feathers stuck out of his neck at awkward angles, bald patches from molting breaking up his charcoal hood. The mare’s ears perked up delightfully, and the raven trilled, deeply satisfied by how this creature made him feel.
*****
Banking sharply, the raven propelled himself towards the pasture below. With his new set of feathers — like sharpened obsidian knives — he adroitly wove through the branches of the oaks, snapping at the tails of aggravated squirrels as he went. The mare twitched an ear when the raven croaked a greeting, her tail swishing lightly. Thwack. The raven landed heavily on the fence, tail bobbing as he regained his balance and folded his wings. Not quite as graceful as before.
Barely sparing him a glance, the mare continued to graze. The raven squawked in festering frustration. Still, she continued to nibble at the grass. Another indignant squawk — louder this time — yielded a heartfelt “huff” from the apathetic beast. Still, she chomped at the grass with yellowed teeth. The raven broke.
“Squawk!” he bellowed, cheek feathers puffed out in spiky irritation. Why wouldn’t she spare him even a fraction of the adoration he held for her? This time, the mare begrudgingly straightened her neck, fixing him with a truculent stare. The raven shifted uncomfortably from the hostility oozing from the mare’s stature. The attention he’d been ruthlessly trying to get had gone sour, the essence filling his nostrils until it was unbearable. Alas, he was forced to fly away, wings wacking the fence as he struggled to catch the air.
*****
The poisonous aura of the pasture kept the raven distant from the mare, though her absence was nearly as crippling as her presence. In an attempt to distract from his throbbing anguish, the raven searched for another source of simple joy. The dumpster. On the barn’s eastern flank, the bird stirred up a tempest of trash and treasure as he fervently rifled with his beak. Among the bounties of neglected pizza crust and forgotten fries, he found little, inedible treasures. Unappreciated by most, yet perfectly precious. His favorite finds consisted of a silver spoon head, an amber earring, and the plastic diamond from a child’s tiara. The sun light imbued each with a dazzling wonder — star-like reflections hypnotizing the raven into quiet awe.
He’d worked hard to keep his collection away from the other ravens, and he doubted that his efforts would last long. Things like these were meant to be enjoyed briefly and fully. Maybe that’s how everything was. The raven turned his head, considering his options. To the west he could barely see the mare’s golden form among the churning sea of grass. Maybe if he shared his starlight with her, she’d finally give him something in return. Loading the treasures into his beak, he lifted himself into the air with midnight wings.
At some point in the infinite stretch of empty sky, the raven began his descent to the pasture. He crooned, the sound escaping loosely from the sides of his occupied beak. Thwack. Claws gripping the splintered wood, the raven meticulously laid out his treasures for display. The mare lifted her head, ears forward in interest as her eyes filled with extravagant displays of light.
The raven waited for a response: for her to shake her head, whine in excitement, or maybe even for her to trot over to the fence where he rested. He waited. Seconds passed. Time seemed to have frozen, the mare’s gentle, grass-like swaying the only indication that she hadn’t been carved from stone. He waited. Seconds passed. At last, the mare lowered her head, twisting the blade deep into the raven’s breast.
*****
The raven had not visited her for many cycles of the sun, though sometimes she could see his flock on the bleak horizon. When she did, her eyes followed them closely — watching them chatter and dance with each other in the air — trying to discern which of the graceful silhouettes was him. Maybe it was the joy she saw in the flock of augite birds, or maybe it was her own hollowness she now felt, but something told her that she’d made a grave mistake. Why had she let the raven leave? She longed for those delightful interruptions: a trill like the guttural purr of the barnyard cat or a flutter of wings which prompted the same sensation inside her own chest. In their absence, the peaceful nature of grazing took on a very different tone. Dull. Dreadful even . . . Meanwhile, among the silver-lined clouds the raven, though occasionally sparing a glance towards the pasture, wondered why he hadn’t left her sooner.
Wind pushed again, having no one to torment but the mare and the three gnarled oaks. A raven croaked, the sound seeming to fill the bird’s hollow bones. The equine hesitantly lifted her head from grazing. High above on the other side of the fence, a flock of birds swirled — chattering and splitting the air with their beaks as they dove. Envy shone in the mare’s eyes.
The mare turned back to grazing — but her attention was caught by a young raven perched on the fence nearby. Cocking his head curiously, the raven drew a snort from the mare. Scruffy feathers stuck out of his neck at awkward angles, bald patches from molting breaking up his charcoal hood. The mare’s ears perked up delightfully, and the raven trilled, deeply satisfied by how this creature made him feel.
*****
Banking sharply, the raven propelled himself towards the pasture below. With his new set of feathers — like sharpened obsidian knives — he adroitly wove through the branches of the oaks, snapping at the tails of aggravated squirrels as he went. The mare twitched an ear when the raven croaked a greeting, her tail swishing lightly. Thwack. The raven landed heavily on the fence, tail bobbing as he regained his balance and folded his wings. Not quite as graceful as before.
Barely sparing him a glance, the mare continued to graze. The raven squawked in festering frustration. Still, she continued to nibble at the grass. Another indignant squawk — louder this time — yielded a heartfelt “huff” from the apathetic beast. Still, she chomped at the grass with yellowed teeth. The raven broke.
“Squawk!” he bellowed, cheek feathers puffed out in spiky irritation. Why wouldn’t she spare him even a fraction of the adoration he held for her? This time, the mare begrudgingly straightened her neck, fixing him with a truculent stare. The raven shifted uncomfortably from the hostility oozing from the mare’s stature. The attention he’d been ruthlessly trying to get had gone sour, the essence filling his nostrils until it was unbearable. Alas, he was forced to fly away, wings wacking the fence as he struggled to catch the air.
*****
The poisonous aura of the pasture kept the raven distant from the mare, though her absence was nearly as crippling as her presence. In an attempt to distract from his throbbing anguish, the raven searched for another source of simple joy. The dumpster. On the barn’s eastern flank, the bird stirred up a tempest of trash and treasure as he fervently rifled with his beak. Among the bounties of neglected pizza crust and forgotten fries, he found little, inedible treasures. Unappreciated by most, yet perfectly precious. His favorite finds consisted of a silver spoon head, an amber earring, and the plastic diamond from a child’s tiara. The sun light imbued each with a dazzling wonder — star-like reflections hypnotizing the raven into quiet awe.
He’d worked hard to keep his collection away from the other ravens, and he doubted that his efforts would last long. Things like these were meant to be enjoyed briefly and fully. Maybe that’s how everything was. The raven turned his head, considering his options. To the west he could barely see the mare’s golden form among the churning sea of grass. Maybe if he shared his starlight with her, she’d finally give him something in return. Loading the treasures into his beak, he lifted himself into the air with midnight wings.
At some point in the infinite stretch of empty sky, the raven began his descent to the pasture. He crooned, the sound escaping loosely from the sides of his occupied beak. Thwack. Claws gripping the splintered wood, the raven meticulously laid out his treasures for display. The mare lifted her head, ears forward in interest as her eyes filled with extravagant displays of light.
The raven waited for a response: for her to shake her head, whine in excitement, or maybe even for her to trot over to the fence where he rested. He waited. Seconds passed. Time seemed to have frozen, the mare’s gentle, grass-like swaying the only indication that she hadn’t been carved from stone. He waited. Seconds passed. At last, the mare lowered her head, twisting the blade deep into the raven’s breast.
*****
The raven had not visited her for many cycles of the sun, though sometimes she could see his flock on the bleak horizon. When she did, her eyes followed them closely — watching them chatter and dance with each other in the air — trying to discern which of the graceful silhouettes was him. Maybe it was the joy she saw in the flock of augite birds, or maybe it was her own hollowness she now felt, but something told her that she’d made a grave mistake. Why had she let the raven leave? She longed for those delightful interruptions: a trill like the guttural purr of the barnyard cat or a flutter of wings which prompted the same sensation inside her own chest. In their absence, the peaceful nature of grazing took on a very different tone. Dull. Dreadful even . . . Meanwhile, among the silver-lined clouds the raven, though occasionally sparing a glance towards the pasture, wondered why he hadn’t left her sooner.