[Bêthberry]

Pip'kha quickly flew up to his cousin, coasting a bit as he held his position.

"Iodoc, you must take our company north with Akaaw and the murder. Remember to watch for Mitikaw's maneuvres. What he intends I don't know, but just be wary. Winka and Dakaw will help you. I am taking Rik'ki'kew and Kawdor with me. We are returning to the Forest."

Iadoc slowed his wing speed and looked incredulously at Pip'kha.

"You are doing what?"

"Fingot Sparrowbane is not among us and we have need of his knowledge, experience, wisdom. No one saw him die. And it is not the manner of crows to abandon our kind. I am to find him, dead or alive."

Iadoc eyed his cousin. "That forest is dangerous. It is wrong for us to go there. You won't be safe." Here, Iadoc nodded his head curtly, three times, as if in ritual to ward off danger for Pip'kha. "What's the point of searching for one who is lost?"

Pip'kha looked long and hard at his less thoughtful cousin. "Sometimes, Iodoc, you are a silly grub. You fear soaring? Or diving deeply? The forest is dark, deep, and indeed dangerous but lovely too. But my purpose is to find one who might need help."

So saying, Pip'kha banked left and circled to seek out Rik'ki'kew and Kawdor. The three crebain wheeled around and flew into the higher stream of air, where the windspeed brought them quickly back to the forest. They spread out to caw range of each other, hovering low over the forest floor and began a search pattern, weaving in and out of the tree trunks. They did not risk calling to the elder crow for fear of arousing the anger of the trees.

Pip'kha's nerves were on edge, a welter of clear-headed determination and unsettled anxiety and there was a tense tremour in his body as he flew over the pine needles, fallen leaves, dead and rotting matter of the floor. Finally, he risked a short, quick, tremulous caw, then another. To his left he caught a weak reply and peering down he spied the small dark body of Fingot Sparrowbane, nestled on the matted forest floor.

"Crahka, crahka," whispered the younger bird, as he landed at the side of the elder crow.

"Are you injured, hurt, in pain?" asked Pip'kha as he quickly began preening Sparrowbane's wings and body, his beak moving back and forth among the ruffled, crushed down and disheveled feathers, returning them to some semblance of smooth normality and relaxing the stiff muscles of the elderly crow.

"Thirst, thirst, mainly," Fingot managed to reply, his cracked beak hampering his words.

Pip'kha nodded and scratched through the dirt, hunting for worms. Finding one, he crushed it in his beak, masticating it into a fine pulp, which he then slipped into Fingot's beak in small amounts. Pip'kha then flew to the shrubs, searching for the juiciest of black serviceberries. He collected as many as he could in his claws and beak and returned to Fingot, repeating the actions again and again of crushing the berries lightly and then letting their juice drip into the old crow's mouth as Fingot held his beak up to catch the sweet liquor. Finally Fingot rested his head on his wing, savouring the strength and relief that was flowing into his body.

"Let me find the others," said Pip'kha, as he circled into the air at mid-hight among the trees. He cawed briefly, two short spurts which Rik'ki'kew and Kawdor quickly answered, coming to him. The three young crows then returned to Sparrowbane, nestling on the bedded needles beside him and waiting for him to gain strength for the flight back to the murder.