something black

The sun shone ruthlessly as though Blackbirds once more ruled the sky. Their cries were echoes, nothing more than remnants across the cool stone below. But still the Woodpeople waited. Small Woodchildren hid behind their mothers, clasping winding tails in their soft furred hands. Large brown eyes gleamed as they searched the sky, their faces upturned, waiting. And then it came.

A loud cry of to the east heralded the Blackbirds, and then, within an instant, everything was black. Everything was a dark seething mess, black upon black, with hundreds of jewel bright black eyes and piercing orange beaks, stabbing, squawking. Blackbirds were upon everything, their babble like laughter.


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