CHAPTER THREE: {THE GATHERING}
All day and on into evening, the crow family gathered. Parents and children, cousins and grandparents. Large crows, small crows, loud crows, and louder crows. Some had heard the details of Crow’s dream and were alarmed, others had heard some rumor of it and were more alarmed. Some were angry. Some were confused. All of them had something to say, and when saying it didn’t make them feel better they tried saying it again, a little louder.
As day became dusk, they lit lanterns against the growing dark, along the creek, to help them see. They were unaccustomed to being out of their nests at night. Only big bad things would warrant it. They also hoped the lanterns would warn off nocturnal animals whose eyes, they imagined, would hurt from so much light. And so, in the warm glow of the lanterns, their conference continued loud and long. Small animals trying to sleep heard the crows’ barking and throaty conversations and ran off to find quieter beds for the night. Keen-eared animals far across the hill could hear every word that was said:
“This is our forest and we have to defend it! We have to keep our hatchlings safe!” said one, over and over.
“I’ve heard owls are so quiet and cunning they can snatch food right out of your mouth!” said one, with a thrill of excitement.
“I’ve heard they have mysterious powers!” said another ominously.
“I’ve heard they’re too dumb to talk properly, they just hoot gibberish.” said one who considered herself one of the smarter crows in the family.
“But how can they be cunning and dumb at the same time?” asked a young crow who was always asking uncomfortable questions like this.
There was an offended, feather-preening silence. Eventually one said, “Must be one of their mysterious powers.”
Crow moved through the crowd, nodding and cawing, with a sense of importance. Amongst all these brilliant minds, she was sure someone would know what to do. But the night wore on and even as dawn approached, the crows still could not agree. Many had gone up to their nests “to keep thinking” and hadn’t come back for hours. Some were dozing off mid-sentence. It was in this bleary-eyed blue hour that one famously bad-tempered crow, a distant cousin, sidled up to her. “There’s really only one thing to do.” he croaked. “We’ve got to find those owls and teach them a lesson. We’ve got to go to war!”
Crow felt her feathers prickle, as though the dawn had suddenly become quite cold. While most of the crows had fallen asleep, she felt herself begin to wake up. She had been afraid of disruption, and war sounded like terrible disruption. It sounded like something out of a bad dream. She recalled her dream about the mountain growing up through the forest and toppling all the trees. With all this talk of owls she had almost forgotten that she still didn’t know what the dream meant—she still didn’t know what that rock in her nest meant. A small voice inside her whispered: “This might have nothing to do with owls. And if your family makes war on the owls, you’ll be responsible for the harm that is done.”
Crow was ashamed. As all the remaining crows stumbled off to get needed rest, she hoped more sensible minds would prevail in the morning. Perhaps, then, she wouldn’t have to admit that she may have gotten it all wrong.
As the morning sun rose higher, Crow settled in her nest, across from the mysterious rock, and gave in to the heaviness of sleep. Halfway across the forest another bird also headed home. Unlike Crow’s family, this bird loved the velvety dark night time and quiet hunting. All the shouting hurt this bird’s sensitive ears, and scared away its breakfast. But like Crow, this bird also returned home with a troubled heart.