"There is something grand in this," thought Pip'kha, wings rhythmically rising and falling, his tail feathers beating time to their pace. He could almost create a song out of that action; he had thought about it often when the flock first took flight. There was a moment when the whole world seemed to lift up with them and he felt they could drag it away behind them. The feeling never stayed long, but more and more Pip'kha wanted a memory of that feeling. He practiced the words.
C'rah, c'raaah,
c'rah, c'raaah,
c'roosh, sha.
It wasn't right. Maybe next time he would get it right. He banked south and coasted for a bit to think about it until a loud squawk from Iadoc alerted him to his position out of formation. He flapped at thumping rate for three or four wingstrokes to get back into line just before the younger crows started to guffaw at him.
"What did they know," Pip'kha thought as he strained his neck to signify his disdain of their mockery.
__________________
I’ll sing his roots off. I’ll sing a wind up and blow leaf and branch away.
|