The Tale of the Rook and the Raven

In a sky far away, clouds scudded across the blueness, chasing after each other with joyful gusts, forming playful shapes and signs that cast thin shadows over the distant ground below. Strips of light and shade moved over the land, passing across the upper leaves of the forest and flickering in the eyes of the raven perched there.

The raven stared up at the clouds and let out a quiet, mournful caw. It stretched its wings, flapped them once, twice, three times, and let go of the branch in its talons. For a moment it hung there, wobbling from side to side, before tilting awkwardly to one side and losing control. In a flustered whirlwind of feathers and leaves it fell, squawking in panic, until managing to grip onto another branch. Once more, it looked up at the clouds, now even more distant, and this time its saddened caw was little more than a croak.

"Raven," asked a voice from the shadow of the next branch, causing the raven to flinch, startled, "What is the matter?"

The raven croaked and squawked and cawed in misery, before managing to speak the words, "I want to fly. I want to be up there, among the clouds, up in the big blue sky with my brothers and sisters, with all the other ravens. But I cannot. I cannot fly, not even a little bit. I am stuck down here, in these dark branches, and I will never be able to fly with my flock."

"That is indeed a sad thing," said the voice from the next branch. There was the sound of shuffling talons, and the raven peered forward into the gloom. Gradually, a rook edged its way out of the shadows, clinging tightly to the wood beneath it, wings folded against its body.

"A rook," said the raven, blinking, "What are you doing in these forests? All of the rooks have flown many miles away by now, with we ravens to follow."

"Indeed they have," nodded the rook with a small smile, "But why should we all leave? Why can I not simply have remained here because I like this forest, because I like these trees? Is that so difficult to believe, truly? Are we only allowed to seek the sky, rather than the land?"

The raven snorted. "I wish that were true, Rook. I wish that we were not made only for the sky. I will never experience it myself - this forest will be all I ever know. But you must feel it, as I do...the call of the blue above, the drifting clouds, the wheeling and soaring of our flocks? They draw us to them. Even I, and I cannot ever join them."

At this, the raven's words faltered, its voice growing croaky and crackling once again as the misery threatened to engulf it. It waved a single wing in the rook's direction.

"Leave me," said the raven, "Go and fly with the others. Enjoy your skies."

"My dear Raven," replied the rook, shuffling further along the branch, "Perhaps I do feel the call of the skies, as you say, but I'm afraid you will have to endure my company a bit longer. You see, I find myself also unable to fly. Not a single jot. My wings will no more lift me from this forest than yours will."

The raven stared at the rook. "Truly?" it asked.

"Truly," said the rook, "And so I say to you once again - can we not simply enjoy this forest? It may not be the soaring and wheeling that we long for, it may not be filled with our brethren and the playful clouds, but this is what we have and this is what we must make our own, now."

The raven croaked once more. "Our forest?"

"Our forest. We shall watch over it while the others fly away. And, perhaps, if they return one day, we shall welcome them back, having kept it safe all that long while. What do you say, Raven? Shall we share this forest?"

"My dear Rook, yes, we shall!" said the raven, stretching its wings wide to take in all the wide green expanse around them, "This shall be our forest, from now until the end! I shall climb down to the forest floor and gather sticks, and we shall fashion a great nest, so large that it will be visible from the very skies themselves!"

"A grand idea, friend Raven! I shall wait here and prepare for the building," said the rook. It watched as the raven shuffled off down the branch, then began to descend to the forest floor, hopping from branch to branch.

As the raven vanished out of sight in the branches, there was a flapping from above the rook. It looked up to see another rook, a larger bird, descending rapidly. The newcomer fluttered to a stop, alighting next to the treebound bird.

"Brother, come on!" said the largest rook, "The sun is growing lower and we must fly to the new lands now, before the winds grow too cold. Have you rested long enough?"

"My friend, I believe...I am going to remain here," said the rook, still looking down into the lower shadows of the trees. The larger rook cawed in surprise.

"You are going to...remain here? In the forest?" it choked.

"Yes, I am. And I will not argue with you, brother. I will be here when you all return, many seasons from now, I hope. Watch over the flock for me."

"But-"

"I will not argue."

The larger rook stared at its smaller kin. The treebound rook had not turned away from the shadows of the forest, its eyes watching for any movement.

"Very well," said the larger rook, "We shall watch for you on our return. If you still live. Farewell, brother."

"Farewell," said the rook, still refusing to move even as it was buffeted by the wingbeats of the larger bird taking off.

Gradually, out of the shadows, the raven emerged, carrying some dry twigs in its beak. It dropped them in the crook of the branch.

"These will help make a strong nest!" it said happily. The rook looked at it, at its feathers puffed up triumphantly, at the satisfied gleam in its eyes, at the contentment evident in the way it clicked its talons against the branch, and the rook made itself smile again, smile widely and merrily.

"Yes," it said, "They will indeed!"

Overhead, the clouds scudded across the sky, chased by flocks of dark motes as they wheeled and dove through the white shapes and signs, casting shadows across the land below.