Blue Dawn Jay of Aves

Blue Dawn Jay of Aves

by

Gary J. Davies

Published by Gary J. Davies at Smashwords

Blue Dawn Jay of Aves

Copyright 2013 Gary J. Davies

Smashwords Edition License Notes

Thank you for downloading this science fiction e-book. This book is the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be copied or reproduced without the written consent of the author.

With the exception of certain authorized library distributions, this e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com (or affiliated authorized e-book distributor) and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This novel is a work of fiction and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to places, events or locales, is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Acknowledgements

Many thanks to my wife Susan, who puts up with my time consuming hobbies, to my daughter/novice birder Kristin and my music and book loving daughter Kimberly, and to my favorite author James P. Blaylock for his enchanting early elven fantasy novels. Also I thank William Shatner for his inspiring writing efforts; I reason that if he can write novels, so can anyone else. Special thanks to my artist-brother Robert Davies for help with the cover. Thanks also to Microsoft for their spell-checker; which enables the formation of recognizable words even by engineers. Finally, I express greatest thanks to the amazing birds of Earth for inspiring this particular novel. Sing and fly free, birds of Earth!

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CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER 1: THE QUEST FOR SONG FLAME

CHAPTER 2: KATE ON AVES

CHAPTER 3: BROWNIE

CHAPTER 4: JOHN AND THE ROC

CHAPTER 5: RESEARCH BEGINS

CHAPTER 6: FLIGHT

CHAPTER 7: RAPTORS

CHAPTER 8: STORIES AT THE ROC

CHAPTER 9: TALONS AND BEAKS

CHAPTER 10: RAPTOR’S DEN

CHAPTER 11: ATTACK

CHAPTER 12: A NEW QUEST

CHAPTER 13: SCOURGE

CHAPTER 14: RESCUE

CHAPTER 15: STRANGE CONVERSATIONS

CHAPTER 16: FLIGHT TO SONG WOOD

CHAPTER 17: THE OLD ONE AT COUNCIL

CHAPTER 18: WORMS THREATEN

CHAPTER 19: PREPARATIONS

CHAPTER 20: THE BATTLE FOR AVES

CHAPTER 21: NEW BEGINNINGS

About the Author and Pending Novels

INTRODUCTION

Why did I write this book? I make no claim to be a birder; I’ve seen actual birder naturalists in action and respect and marvel at their superior bird knowledge and bird observation skills. I do however harbor a great deal of wonder, awe, and affection for birds, such that writing a novel based on these amazing creatures was highly compelling. From the perspective of clumsy, pampered, Earth-bound humans, birds are incredible!

Wikipedia indicates that Birds (class Aves) are feathered, winged, bipedal, endothermic (warm-blooded), egg-laying, vertebrate animals with around 10,000 living species, and that the fossil record indicates that birds emerged within theropod dinosaurs during the Jurassic period, around 150 million years ago. Thus it is argued that strictly speaking birds ARE dinosaurs, not merely dinosaur descendants. So perhaps a novel with 'dinosaur-sized' birds is not much of a stretch after all, since even normal Earth birds are already dinosaur sized by definition. However some serious anatomical redesign was necessary in this novel for them to plausibly be giant-sized, sentient, and flight-capable.

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CHAPTER 1

THE QUEST FOR SONG FLAME

In the dim gray of the early dawn, before the dual-orbs of blazing yellow fire that brighten the World had yet been sung into direct view by waking songbirds, Blue Dawn Jay flew high over the dense, misty, Southern Forest. In the thick, cool, damp air he glided down to treetop level, boldly daring to cross the hunting territories of both the lingering raptors of night and the emerging raptors of day.

The rising suns were already producing nearly as much illumination as a still visible moon and countless twinkling stars, such that there was finally enough light for Blue to clearly perceive individual trees and tree branches. Shifting strong, young, outstretched feathered wings to convert more forward motion to vertical, he soared slightly higher to gracefully land atop the tallest and grandest great oak in the immediate area, where he brazenly perched upon the uppermost branch sturdy enough to bear his weight. There, with senses honed sharp by a dozen season-cycles of alert forest living, he continued to cautiously look and listen for raptors. He sensed no nearby motion, and only a few scattered hoots of owls and chirps of earliest waking songbirds broke the silence of the great, still resting forest.

The tiny Third Moon and distant twinkling stars had for long hours dimly lit the night and guided his flight, but now with growing anticipation Blue watched as the blackened sky slowly brightened to dull gray and then teasing hints of rich blue, and the moon and stars faded from view. The sky this fine morning was mostly clear of clouds, and only the most gentle of breezes teased his blue, white, gray, and black feathers and caused the great tree beneath him to ever so slightly sway. As the sky brightened, the forest awoke around him; hundreds of resting songbirds stretched and preened and joyfully sang in the dawn of a new day ripe with promise. Life unending burst forth, renewed with their song. This had always been Blue Dawn's favorite time of day; so much so that after his first few cycles of seasons his parents made the dawn part of his name, along with the signature color that favored both sky and jay.

Blue had flown through half of the long night and was somewhat weary and wing-sore. The comfortable branch Blue grasped with his powerful grasping toes was dewy damp, cool and reassuringly solid. He would have liked to simply preen and then rest atop the oak while fully enjoying such a fine morning, but he could not, for he was in new territory and on an urgent quest. As he had done on many other questing days, he would nap in the afternoon and early evening, after he had concluded his business here.

In accordance with Law and the Pact of Jays that his kind had with the other songbirds, Blue announced in Plain Song his arrival to the surrounding forest, his loud harsh voice cutting through those of hundreds of other day-singers that proclaimed the end of the long night and the beginning of another joyous day.

"SHAAACK! Yaw-yaw, yaw-yaw, yaw-yaw! Hear my song, morning bringers! I am Blue Dawn Jay; crest-feathered blue as clear sky, shoulders and under-wings gray as storm clouds, sky blue wings and tail-top banded black as night and white as snow am I.

"Strong as hawk, swift as falcon, cunning as crow am I. But fear me not, winged brothers and sisters, for by The Pact of Jays I am your protector, for I am a blue jay, yaw-yaw!

"A song master also am I. The joyful songs of you all I sing; songs of thrush, chickadee, nuthatch, finch, tanager, grosbeak, and more. Songs of warm suns, soft winds, fat juicy nuts and crawlers, gentle rains and forests green, mixed with song of harsh stormy wind and crushing thunder overcome with the strength of beating wings and hearts. Songs of the joy of life, love of mate, and Freedom of Flight I sing, but never songs of fear. Your songs are mine and mine yours, for you are the World and I am prince of the World; all the World is mine, and I belong to all the World.

"By The Pact of the Jays I pledge wing and beak and claw to protect you, winged brothers and sisters. Songbirds need not fear of owls, hawks or crows when I am near.

In return, friend songbirds, and my jay brothers and sisters, I merely ask your leave during my short visit here, to seek fruit of vine, seed and nut of tree, and flesh of crawlers in your dominion. Crawlers, beware my swift beak; for I am your winged death, and you are my food, yaw-yaw, yaw-yaw.

The unusually long and audaciously boisterous greeting had taken only moments to sing. Blue paused, cocked his head so that he was looking towards the glorious rising suns, and listened attentively to the chorus of replies to his bold declaration, to a hundred songs in dozens of bird-languages that came from all around him, many simultaneously sung.

Some responses were as plain and simple as those who sang them, while other responses were complex and subtle. A red-bellied woodpecker answered with unusual skill but openly, without even a hint of guile or hidden content, as befit her stoic nature. Wood and hermit thrushes, brown threshers, and other song masters gave cryptic answers hidden beneath and within layers of hundreds of richly patterned notes, obscure passages that included references to well-known song master songs that included references to yet other less known songs, which only another true song master could even hope to decipher. These were clearly intended as tests of Blue’s audacious boast to be a song master, which was a very unusual claim for a jay to make.

Some of the replies were friendly, some were mocking, and some curt and indifferent, but at least no songs were overtly hostile, as they were all from other songbirds. That was to be expected; blackbirds and raptors outside the Law would of course not see fit to answer at all.

Included were very brief greetings from several nearby jays. Their replies tended to be neutral declarations of identity; whatever thoughts they had of a stranger jay entering the territory of their flock they kept to themselves for now. However, Blue knew that their interest in his arrival would be intense. With many birds, competition between members of the same species tended to be the most extreme, and so it often was with jays. The local jays would have to be dealt with promptly, so that he could both avoid conflict and quickly gain their aid to accomplish his quest.

It took Blue several minutes to sing a brief individual reply to each bird, abandoning Plain Song to mimic their voices and species-specific song styles perfectly, thanking them for their comradeship and flattering unmercifully their songs, their wisdom, and their fine forest. For the song masters, there were complex and obscure replies to what had been layered deep within their own songs: subtle, twisted references and logic that answered most ageless riddles by posing yet deeper ones, hidden in note patterns that were harmonic variations of themes that they had supplied to Blue.

When Blue’s replies finally ended there were numerous brief squawks of approval from the surrounding trees, as song, for both its beauty of sound and its deeper content, was as important to most birds as food or mates. From the forest floor far below, one creative brown thresher chirped a highly complex and original compliment which compared Blue's effort favorably to those of master brown and sage threshers, before returning to the more pressing morning business of greeting the day with fresh new songs of her own, and surprising careless ground crawlers.

Blue glided down a dozen meters to rest upon a slightly lower branch of the great oak, as he continually surveyed his surroundings for predators. Far above, a gigantic red tailed hawk circled slowly on gentle morning breezes but appeared to ignore Blue. Though the hawk needed to be watched, fat, hairy ground crawlers in clearings were far easier prey than feisty jays or songbirds protected by jays. Most of the great raptors, though they disdained the Law, seldom took songbirds unless the prey bird was injured or alone. Small healthy birds could too easily evade a big raptor, and the ever vigilant and protective jays could deliver painful bill-blows.

Blue was much more concerned about the smaller, swifter predators that prowled within the treetops, particularly the falcons and small owls. A small raptor could quietly rush in from close quarters and strike before being noticed. After his boisterous greeting an enraged predator might even come looking for Blue in particular. Such things had happened to jays before. None other than the high soaring great hawk were currently evident, but Blue Dawn knew that there were likely to be other raptors hiding nearby, hoping to discover a careless songbird within their striking range.

Blackbirds also needed to be watched. Though they usually followed the Law they were opportunists that twisted or broke the Law when it suited them and they felt that they could get away with it. Aged, sick, juvenile, or isolated songbirds and their eggs were always at risk to the wondering flocks of crafty bullying crows and grackles.

As a healthy adult jay, Blue knew that he was an unlikely target himself. Easier prey than jays for raptors or blackbirds were everywhere. A little yellow-rumped warbler flitted onto the branch of a nearby fir tree, scooped up a small many-legged crawler, and trilled musically after swallowing it whole. Several tiny blue-gray gnatcatchers swept through the morning air, snatching up winged, flying crawlers. They lighted on several different branches of the oak, and then dashed about on sturdy little legs, rapidly plucking up small crawlers while contentedly uttering wheezy high pitched notes and twangy pinging sounds.

Blue glimpsed other birds through the branches, and quickly identified each species by their appearance, behavior and song. Though he was less familiar with a few of the South Forest species than he was with all the types of birds that lived in his own territory in the North Forest, here as in the hillier, more open woodlands of his homeland, the Pact of Jays that had become part of the Law was firmly held. If he observed a predator threatening a songbird, Blue would try to drive it away. He would fight to the death to save a songbird, if necessary, for this was the place of jays in the World, according to the Pact.

Cautiously, he dropped still lower in the great oak. For the meeting that he would now set in motion, Blue wanted to place himself properly. At this time of day many jays would be high enough in the forest canopy to survey the upper levels where falcons might prey on small songbirds, but not so high as to draw unwanted attention to themselves. Those birds he was about to summon to him needed the opportunity to perch at a proper level.

Blue began to emit the unique, eerie rallying call of the jays, which derived from ancient mating cries. A loud, penetrating, ringing tone of many reverberating frequencies, it was punctuated by harsh, attention getting squawks. Tull-ull-ull-ull-ull-ull-ull! Yaw-yaw, yaw-yaw.

Within seconds his efforts were rewarded; a jay flew in from a neighboring tree and perched on a nearby branch. Yaw-yaw, the new arrival squawked, providing through secondary frequencies his name and status within his flock. A second jay, obviously his mate, followed close behind and also announced herself. Others soon flew in from all directions, until Blue was surrounded by a flock of three dozen squawking blue jays. Blue relaxed his raptor vigilance somewhat, as no predator would dare attack a flock of jays. It was the other jays that Blue needed to focus on now, for to them he was a stranger jay.

Finally the leader of the group, an enormous individual nearly as great in size as Blue, squawked greetings cordially, dropped onto the perch directly in front of the visitor, and cocked his head to one side to better study Blue more directly with one of his big eyes. A deep gash above the left eye, long since healed, indicated the source of his name. You would be Blue Dawn from the far North Forest, said Scar, singing in the quick, sharp, no-nonsense jay language. We hear songs of you, young jay. You quest far from your summer nesting.

Far quest; far, far, far! echoed the gathered jays as they bobbed their heads, indicating that they followed the conversation and agreed with their spokesman. More, through such repetition and movement they were subtly affirming Scar’s firm leadership of their flock and his right to sing for them all.

I thank you deeply for allowing my visit, and for responding to my gathering-call, sang Blue in reply, then sang right to business. I seek a questing brother, wise flock leader Scar: an old bird, feeble in wing but strong in song and spirit. A bird judged wise among even the wise, a bird that perches high in the Great Council.

Great Council, Council, Council, echoed the others, heads bobbing excitedly at the mere mention of the Great Council of Songbirds.

So it is sung, replied Scar. Songs passed from distant forests tell of a young jay, a jay as rich in song lure as a thresher, who recklessly quests endlessly through the forest, seeking a great wise bird of the Council. Yet this bird you seek is not your mate, song master?

Coming from a jay flock leader, Blue wasn’t sure if he had been called a song master as a complement or a rebuke. Jays loved song as much as other birds, but true mastery of song bore no relationship to the jay Pact. Singing wasn’t a jay's primary business, as his own father and flock leader had reminded him many times. I seek not mate, not family, not even jay, but a good friend, he replied.

Scar cocked his head expressively. Not mate, not even jay? Do you quest to these woods on official Council business then?

The other jays squawked in astonishment at the very suggestion. All birds knew of the Great Council of Songbirds, but few had ever experienced any direct contact with it, or had even met with any bird that had.

Scar’s logic was evident to them all. A solitary stranger jay flying about the woods was unusual, although not unheard of. There were infrequent quests beyond flock territorial boundaries for new mates or missing mates, for lost siblings, or even for new songs for males to interest fickle females, but most such quests tended to be short forays that occurred early in Spring, when the pulse of life in the forest caused even jays to temporarily forsake some flock duties for a brief time in order to seek their mate and continue the great cycle of life. Only during the yearly winter migration to the South-East Islands did northern jays such as Blue normally travel far from their home nesting forest. Questing in mid-summer was rare indeed.

Only Council business cut across all territories and happened at any time of year. Council business would thus be a logical reason for such a quest, though a jay questing on Council business was also rare. It was not the typical jay’s niche in bird society to be flying about on Council business.

No, no! replied Blue. Mine is not a quest for Council, this quest is mine only, by Freedom of Flight, he explained. I seek my friend, wise Song Flame the Cardinal.

The older jay nodded slowly. The principle of Freedom of Flight was an old one, far older than the Pact and even The Law. Some sang that it was as old as birds. I have met many cardinals in my youth and while on migration, but none summer here, stated Scar. The flock leader stared this way and that, shaking his head, as though some deep memory was stirring him, before continuing. Song Flame the Cardinal. Yes, I have heard that name sung. They are fine songsters, cardinals are, but they rarely nest or quest in the South Forest, as they prefer the seeds of the North Forest. Why would such a bird quest here, and what could it have to do with a jay, or even the Council? The Council deals with small and silly matters: nesting rights, song interpretations, and the like. Such things are not of particular interest to jays, nestling. The true business of jays is to keep the Pact in their own nesting grounds.

Blue ignored the clear rebuke. So many others had criticized his quest and sought to dissuade him from continuing it that he didn’t even bother arguing anymore. This cardinal went on a long quest to the Far South Forest, and did not return. I seek my friend and mentor, and I need your help. Have you seen or heard of such a bird, wise Scar? Or have any members of your flock?

Not I, sang Scar.

Not I, not I, not I, echoed most of the others, but one pair remained silent until after all the others had answered. What does this cardinal look like? asked the male.

Blue noted that both jays of the pair were even younger than himself and may have never been introduced to cardinals. Jays didn’t necessarily migrate in the winter such that they would meet with birds of other regions. This bird is less than half your size, with a head crested like a jay, but is all red like the head of a great woodpecker or a male scarlet tanager in spring.

It could be him, nodded the female.

Could be him, could be him, could be him, agreed the nodding male.

Elated, Blue’s feathers puffed out, but he was puzzled. If it was indeed Song Flame, how could the presence of a great one such as he not be well known among the local jay flock? Is it Song Flame? asked Blue. There had been many false leads and hopes over the last two months, but he had strong feelings about this one, feelings of hope mixed with dread. Surely this bird must have sung you his name.

Too weak is the bird we sing of, explained Bob, the young male jay.

Weak, and perhaps without song to even sing his name properly, added his mate Nod. He may be red of feather, or the red we have seen may be all blood.

Blood, blood, blood, echoed Bob.

Blue’s sudden elation turned just as quickly to terrible dread. Quickly, where is this bird? he demanded.

On deathwatch, chorused the nodding pair.

There is an old injured bird on deathwatch near our nesting tree, added Nod.

Deathwatch, deathwatch, deathwatch! echoed the jay flock, solemnly.

We must return and rejoin the deathwatch, for there the blackbirds gather, sang Bob. Too many blackbirds this year; far too many.

Come. Fly to see if it is your friend, invited the young female. Follow us.

Nod and her mate Bob flew off, followed closely by Blue, after he chirped a hasty thank-you to Scar and his flock.

Scar screamed a curt note of dismissal and he and the rest of the jay flock scattered quickly, returning to their normal morning routine. Already, half his flock had abandoned their songbird neighbors for far too long, thought Scar. True jay business was to enforce the Pact. His flock had already put up with more than their share of unusual problems and strange rumors this season.

As Blue followed Bob and Nod through the thick of the forest, he guessed the source of the names that the young pair held. Bob, the male, constantly bobbed up and down in flight, dodging limb and leaf with what appeared to be reckless abandon, while Nod flew more cautiously behind him, but moved her head constantly up and down as her eyes anxiously followed the erratic movement of her mate. Despite their odd styles, they were superb woodland flyers, and Blue had to use all of his flying skills to keep up with them.

They had flown only a few dozen great tree widths when Blue sensed a change in the mood of the forest. Gone were the joyful songs of morning; ahead and below an ominous silence reigned, broken only by harsh, toneless CAW, CAW sounds. The trio flew straight towards the source of the awful sounding noise, increasing their speed.

In a small clearing atop a small tree stump roost near ground level, a brown-red clump of twisted, broken feathers lay still. On the forest floor around it strutted a dozen huge, hulking crows, each at least four or five times the weight of an average jay. Overhead a pair of jays circled closely, soon joined by Bob and Nod, squawking deathwatch, deathwatch, but several of the blackbirds squawked back at them defiantly, while the others insolently ignored them completely. Several additional crows circled high above the jays.

The big blackbirds were clearly not waiting for the ailing songbird to officially be declared dead by the jay deathwatch. The big crows on the ground were edging slowly towards the low stump, cautious of the jays but clearly confident in their superior numbers and strength.

Even as Blue took this all in, a monstrous crow landed within the tightening circle of marching crows and stepped decisively towards the stump, only to be diverted by a tiny brown figure that scrambled rapidly out from its base, cheeping loudly as it thrashed tiny flapping wings and pecked with its long thin beak at the towering crow's massive legs.

The huge crow paused to look down at the miniature bird that attacked it. The tiny creature was no larger than the crow's head, and its pecking hadn't even broken any skin. Surprise had given the crow pause, not injury.

Blue knew exactly what the big crow was thinking. This small bird was normally under the protection of Law, but now that it had attacked him, the First Law took precedence. If attacked, any bird could lawfully defend itself to the death; that was the First Law. With a gleeful squawk, the crow prepared to strike down at its diminutive attacker, which Blue now recognized to be a brown creeper.

KEEEEEEE! Blue screamed in his red tailed hawk voice, as he dove at the crow. One of his wings glanced solidly off the right shoulder of the big bird, such that it stumbled a bird-length away from the creeper, but was not knocked off of its feet. A moment later the jay perched astride the bloodied pile of feathers atop the stump and turned to face the monstrous black bird.

The crow, fully recovered after being merely thrown off balance for a moment, hissed open-mouthed at Blue, while his startled, squawking companions, still glancing about for a hawk, scrambled awkwardly away from the stump in confusion and extended their wings as though considering flight. Meanwhile the tiny creeper rapidly spiraled its way up the stump using its bark-gripping toes, and flattened itself out fearfully under Blue's legs and next to the red pile of feathers, panting open-beaked and wide-eyed. The little bird was both terrified and exhausted.

The lead crow appraised Blue with cold unblinking eyes. Blue had never before seen such a huge crow. Cocked head held high, the big bird's black head was almost level with Blue's, despite Blue’s position atop the stump. Away, little cousin, this does not concern you, the crow hissed in plain language without even a hint of song skill. Your Law has no hold on the dead or those that eat of them. His head turned slightly to glare directly at the creeper. Nor does the Law protect those who attack us as we go about our proper business.

If this old bird is not yet dead, a blue jay deathwatch should be held by Law, replied Blue. Perhaps you would have made the mistake of breaking the Law. Perhaps this small brown bird only seeks your well-being then, wise crow, by saving you from such inadvertent error.

The crow flock, which had by now calmed down and crowded closer to the stump than ever, cawed loudly in laughter. Though crows were killers, no other bird had a stronger sense of humor, dark and twisted though it was.

The lead crow did not laugh. You seem witty enough, young egg eater, to know death when you see it, though also reckless enough that you may soon know it better, he hissed. Our flock heard some of your silly, boastful song earlier, stranger jay. Song master or not, you must follow the Law. Look for yourself at the pile of feathers that you stand over, young prince of the forest, and see if by Law it still holds a true songbird, egg-eater.

Blue’s eyes flashed and his head cocked back and prepared to strike when he was called an egg eater, for there was no greater insult to a jay. Long ages ago, before the Pact of Jays with the songbirds, when partnered in ancient times with blackbirds, jays also ate songbird eggs; to call a jay an egg-eater now was to call them a traitor to the Pact of Jays. But Blue held his temper to better use his wits, for he knew that not by force alone could he prevail against a flock of huge crows.

He glanced up and saw that there were now six more jays circling above them, but the balance of power was still tilted strongly in favor of the larger and more numerous crows, particularly since if what Blue was doing wasn’t even supported by Law, it wasn’t certain what the other jays would support him.

Tull-ull-ull-ull-ull-ull-ull! Yaw-yaw, yaw-yaw, sang Bob and Nod, calling for more jays to gather, and showing that for now they backed Blue.

Squawk, responded the lead crow in anger.

Hold, wise crow, placated Blue. This pile of feathers may indeed hold your breakfast. Stay back and be quiet now, and let me check to see if your meal is ready for you yet.

The crows cackled laughter again, and as they did, Blue stepped aside and took his first good look at what he had been risking his life to protect. The feathers could have been red, but so many were stuck together with brown mud and darker, dried blood, it was difficult to judge their original color. They were sticking out in all directions without discernible order as might be expected of a creature with wings and tail, such that it was at first not even clear which end of the pile might hold rump or head. Blue didn’t think that this could possibly be Song Flame, he wasn’t even sure it was a cardinal.

Hello, Blue, whispered a weak and plain but shockingly familiar voice from the near end of the feather pile.

Anxiously, Blue gently pushed aside lose, broken feathers to reveal the short, stout, seed-cracking beak and small blinking right eye of his missing friend and mentor, old Song Flame. Near the eye a blood-sucking crawler was attached to the skin. Before Blue could react, the little brown creeper’s slim bill shot forward almost swifter than could be seen, and the crawler was gone. The cardinal’s small eye blinked weakly as though in gratitude, a blood stained tear running from it.

Song Flame lives, declared Blue loudly, as he turned and stood tall to again face the great crow.

The crow’s cruel answering laughter cackled through the little clearing. Lives? It lives you say? I think not. The poor broken thing weakly breathes perhaps, and croaks softly a plain word or two, but by Law that is not life for a bird of song. If it lives, why do we not hear its life-song? If it is a bird why does it not fly? Without its life-song or flight it is dead and open to claim as crow food. That is your own Law, egg-eater. Now be gone.

Blue’s feathers fluffed out, making him appear even larger, and he held his wings half out and crouched lower on his sturdy legs, poised to leap out upon the crow. SHAAACK, he screamed angrily. Nest robber! Carrion lover! Dung eater! Songless, croaking, colorless, slow flying, crawler cousin! In this I have my own law! I eat the eyes of crows that insult the jay! Give this bird a chance to sing and fly to discover what is right by Law, or look now your last upon blue death!

Law, Law, Law, Law, came a noisy chorus from above, and all glanced up to see dozens of blue jays arriving and gathering above them. The full jay flock of Scar had arrived. Most circled noisily and closely above the heads of the crows, but Scar and several others landed at