Grave of Crows [BIG WIP]

           As squirrels skittered along the path, birds fluttered overhead and chirped to one another. Hatchlings’ shrill cries could be heard in the tree branches far above, their alone and hungry beings desperately trying to grasp the type of safety that only a mama could provide. If one had a sharp enough eye, one could stumble upon the sight of a mother bird answering her baby’s pleas. Lonesome travelers often found themselves jealous watching the begging birds being fed, envying the mother’s warm care. The forest beckoned the souls of those without a home, opening its branches to allow the sun’s rays to dawn upon them, warming their hearts if only for a moment. Thus, it was not surprising to find Tate here again, shoes worn from constant visits. The stump he sat on had an imprint due to how often he occupied it, and though he just got here for today, the squirrels already were scrambling towards him in the hopes that he would spare some of his sourdough loaf; though, he always did. Tate set down his water jug. “Please stay safe alright? Don’t forget how much I need you,” he spoke. Tate pet his owl's feathers, providing a small snack and a gentle peck to its head before stretching his arm out and letting his friend fly off. He hoped that it would return soon, maybe sooner than usual; he had work to do today. Tate was unbothered by the insects who crawled on the stump he was waiting on, trying to ignore them and the itchiness they gave as they moved along his legs. Eventually, he became impatient, pulling out his coffee-stained notebook and starting to draw. (5/26/21)