[Rimbaud]

Fingot snarled quietly as Akaaw turned away. Mitakaw was perched attentively at his right wing. He was a good son.

“What are you waiting for, sparrow!” he hissed, the insult jerking the younger bird into flight, before he composed himself and re-grasped the thick branch. A flash of anger came into Mitakaw’s bright eyes and Fingot nodded approvingly, before he could stop himself. The flurry of birds around them was bewildering, yet they stood as still as possible, swaying with the branch as it was knocked and disturbed. “This is important,” said the ancient creban. “Fetch your lieutenants, and my flank guards. I will remain near Akaaw.” He lowered his voice at the end and motioned for Mitakaw to come close. The glossy black crow bent his head against his father’s neck, obediently. Fingot whispered, a sibilant sound that none other could have heard, “Follow my instructions now, fledgling, and someday you will order such a multitude of birds.”

Fingot shoved roughly and unexpectedly against his son, who took wing and flew, dart-like, through the milling crows, cawing, low and insistent. Certain young, strong birds broke from their flights and joined him. The wise among the Captains nodded. Fingot was making his move now. None dared to prevent the desertion of their soldier birds to Mitakaw’s wing.

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Fingot turned back to his chief. “What instructions from greybeard, my liege?” he asked slyly. “What advice might I offer thee? See here, my son has brought you a breakfast.” He gestured with a wing-tip and a nod of the head the small, wriggling treats Mitakaw had deposited on the branch near the leader.

Akaaw looked hard at his advisor, but said nothing. He turned to the grubs and devoured them, picking them delicately with his strong beak and flipping them up in the air, then plucking and gobbling them from their flight. Fingot felt a mild rush of envy, surprising himself.

“We fly north in a search,” said the chief. “That is all you need to know at present.”

Fingot nodded. He had patience. “My liege, I must away to prepare for the flight.” He cackled suddenly. “I am not so vital as yourself, Eminence.”

The larger crow nodded peremptorily. “Go prepare, trusted one.”

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Fingot flew awkwardly through the chaotic treetops, before he came to the nests tended by his daughter, Vronja. No sooner had he landed, than she was at his side. “Mitakaw moves for Captaincy, my father-lord? Akaaw has many other Captains.” she asked. He greatly respected her wisdom. He nodded.

“The time for preparing is done. He will be one of the strongest leaders, as it should be. Akaaw will not help but be impressed.”

The object of his ambitions descended through the treetops, a large crowd of crows about him. Two of the smaller ones came forward and flanked Fingot, but he ignored them.

“Very good, my son,” he said loudly. Mitakaw preened himself at the praise and puffed out his feathers. “Now, be strong and true, and make sure your flock is at the front of everything that we do. I shall remain with Akaaw.” He leant forward and whispered final instructions to his son and daughter before wearily taking flight again and returning to the tallest tree, where Akaaw was talking with many Captains.

[ December 13, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]