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XVII. Ornament
Posted By Scott at 2/17/2020 2:07 PM

Tradition was a concept Ghost had a hard time teaching Old Crow. Mostly Old Crow had a hard time learning anything that didn’t interest him.

“So they just hang these trinkets on the tree? To what end?” Old Crow asked bewildered.

“It’s after my time, but I think it is comforting to them. The decoration is the tradition.” Ghost offered.

A look came over Old Crow that sent chills through Ghost.

“They don’t look like ornaments to me. They remind me of offerings.”

With that, Old Crow flew from the barren tree lit dimly by the window’s light. Ghost had no choice but to follow.

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XVI. Wild
Posted By Scott at 2/16/2020 2:04 PM

Old Crow slept for a long time.

Through spring, through summer and into autumn.

His dreams seemed fevered and unrelenting.

When he finally stirred awake, he turned toward Ghost and simply asked “Shall we carry on?”

Ghost would never get used to Old Crow’s ability to shed the past like an ill-fitting skin.

An orange maple leaf tumbled from the tree where they were perched.

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XV. Legend
Posted By Scott at 2/15/2020 5:14 PM

“I am worshipped as a messenger. Death speaks through me!”

Old Crow was wild with fever now. It was rare, but Ghost had seen it before.

“Others named their people after me!”

Old Crow’s eyes flitted wildly. For a brief moment it appeared as if another set of eyes had been trying to peek out.

“They fear me!” Old Crow spit, his head raised to the sky.

Of this, Ghost had no doubts.

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XIV. Overgrown
Posted By Scott at 2/14/2020 5:13 PM

Time was a slippery thing for Ghost since he’d began travelling with Old Crow.

He’d look away from a clearing for what felt like but a moment, and that once empty field would be flush with trees and littered with undergrowth.

Of course it was made more alarming watching things returned to the earth; a fresh kill reduced to bones and rot in mere minutes.

In the end he supposed they were the same thing.

How quickly something could become overgrown or food for the worms.

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XIII. Ash
Posted By Scott at 2/13/2020 5:09 PM

“Long ago the humans would burn those who thought differently alive at the stake” Old Crow mused.

He’d watched it happened, perched as ever in his tree. Curious at the folly of it all.

“They’d do much worse to me if they saw my true face.”

Ghost felt a heat rise in his chest, flushing his face. He’d wanted to ask the question; he knew he’d regret the answer.

All he knew is he’d been tied to Old Crow since he’d met him.

His disdain for his predicament grew with each passing year, and he’d long ago lost track of how many years it had been.

Ghost said nothing.

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XII. Dragon
Posted By Scott at 2/12/2020 5:06 PM

Old Crow found it amusing the fables and whispered stories that the humans carried with them.

Bone simple facts ignored, shrugged off as fake, but the fairytale writings of generations long dead held up to a staggering standard.

Old Crow was happy to leave them tilting at their windmills and slaying their dragons.

He grew stronger the blinder their eyes became.

What real fight could one put up on their knees, their hands folded in prayer?

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XI. Snow
Posted By Scott at 2/11/2020 3:44 PM

The snow fell deep and heavy now. A bitter cold wind whipped and whirled across the barren field at the edge of the forest.

Each year the winter grew shorter, but more violent. A beast knowing its end is near; lashing out at all around it unwilling to accept what is next.

The humans had done this to themselves. Not a single warning heeded.


It wouldn’t be long now.

Mother nature was lumbering slowly across the lands to snatch them up and wipe them from the earth.

Old Crow smiled at this. Ghost shivered in the tree next to him.

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X. Pattern
Posted By Scott at 2/10/2020 4:07 PM

Ghost had been a soldier before he’d met Old Crow.

He remembered wearing his armour proudly, keeping his blade sharpened and always following orders.

Old Crow had brought him mischief. Old Crow had whispered poison in his ear and kissed death on his lips.

He imagined his armour had long ago rusted and rotten.

It had been quite some time since he’d watched the cherry blossoms bloom from the window of his home.

Old Crow had taken that from him.

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IX. Swing
Posted By Scott at 2/09/2020 3:35 PM

Thunk.

Old Crow and Ghost watched the axe swing high, pause ever so slightly, then come crashing down.

Thunk.

Old Crow had watched the humans do this for hundreds of years.

Thunk.

Sometimes to the trees of the forest; the sound a sharp crack as the wood splintered and scattered wide.

Thunk.

Sometimes to each other; that sound wet and dull.

Thunk.

That sound was much harder to forget.

Thunk.

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VIII. Frail
Posted By Scott at 2/08/2020 2:58 PM

Old Crow landed next to Ghost. Ghost shivered; his wings bristled.

“Scared you did I? You’re as frail as an eggshell, aren’t you?” Old Crow teased.

Ghost thought about plucking out Old Crows feathers, one by one.

He hoped he’d one day have the chance.

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VII. Enchanted
Posted By Scott at 2/07/2020 2:50 PM

Ghost flew wide over the cliff’s edge.

The water was cool and clear. Through the faint shimmer of the waves he could see hundreds of sea shells.

Each one a different shape or pattern of colours, pockmarked throughout the shoreline.

As the waves past over them, they appeared to be dancing.

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VI. Husky
Posted By Scott at 2/06/2020 2:44 PM

How long had Old Crow been dreaming? And where had Ghost gone?

In the distance he could hear a faint howl.

He hoped it might be a team of dogs, but his better instincts told him it was wolves.

It was time to move on.

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V. Build
Posted By Scott at 2/05/2020 2:06 PM

Ghost watched Old Crow as he slept; twitching and shivering. He shuddered himself at the thought of Old Crow settling down with a family of his own.

“I’d even built a nest!” Old Crow had told him once proudly.

Ghost had seen the many faces of Old Crow.

Some of them snarling and snapping. Others shy. Other coy. Others still bent and twisted mockeries.

All of them hiding something.

Ghost has yet to have built up the courage to ask Old Crow what had become of his family.

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IV. Freeze
Posted By Scott at 2/04/2020 2:02 PM

Old Crow stirred against frost covered rocks.

His dreams were feverish. He has been many birds over many lifetimes. In his dream he is small and fragile, fighting for scraps in the far north.

He remembered being so panic-stricken to find food he’d gone feverish and mad.

Digging deeper and deeper in the snow in hopes of a crumb of seed.

Deeper and deeper…

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III. Bait
Posted By Scott at 2/03/2020 1:57 PM

The heron plucked a fish from the water. 



“No snail for her tonight” thought Old Crow.

“I wonder how long until winter arrives?” Ghost asked Old Crow.

Old Crow could feel the chill in his bones already. 



“Not much longer now.”

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II. Mindless
Posted By Scott at 2/02/2020 11:57 AM

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown.”

“A burden they happily die chasing” thought Ghost. “A burden they happily kill for.”

A cool breeze blew through the fields and across the old dead tree Ghost and Old Crow were perched in.

They said nothing for a long time.

A heron flew wide of them. She knew better than to engage them in conversation.


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I. Ring
Posted By Scott at 2/01/2020 11:43 AM

“What is it that you’re doing” Ghost asked Old Crow perplexed.

“Picking at these baubles. The humans are positively obsessed with them. No feathers to preen I suppose, so they adorn themselves in medals and jewellery”. Old Crow held a ring up, the sunlight catching it and blinding Ghost for a moment.

“That one’s been dead for a bit I’d imagine from the smell. Another empire fallen.” Ghost said squinting.

“Then he won’t be needing this, will he?”

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