shrieks through the forest

The leaves of the cicada waved gently in the wind. The sun was bright and cheery, the mountain still. The squirrels were napping. They had enough to last them the coming winter. Their impulses urged them to find more. And they would. But right now, they were asleep. It was a drowsy sort of a day. A rock stumbled down through the mountain. A thud as it landed. The sun moved further in the sky. The clouds passed slowly. Hours passed. The silence remained. Squirrels began to wake up. Their soft patter disturbing the peace in this serene view. A shriek pierced the silence. Louder. Heartbreaking. Heart wrenching. Wings flapping. A mighty eagle flying low, impossibly low. Her head frantically looking from side to side. Too low for her kind. Something was off about her. Her right wing was a little lower than the left, as if it were not strong enough to be on the same level. Her caws pierced the sky. Shrieks. The squirrels stood still, and then they began to run. Scrambling. The trees rustled as she flew past them, uncaring whether they grazed her or not. Graze her they did. Droplets of blood falling in her wake. Shriek. The clouds continued lazily dancing in the sky. The sun stood still. Watching. Curious. Shriek. The squirrels chattered loudly. Concerned. Communicating about where she was, and how to avoid her. The owls inside their nests opened their yellow eyes, rolled them, and winced them shut as the shrieks cut through their sleep and peace. A deer grazing in the forest perked up its ears, tilting its head as it tracked the sound of the eagle as it flew by. The wolf tracking it stopped and watched as it flew by. The clouds were calm. The sun was still.

A few hundred yards away was the stone that had fallen from the mountain. Upon closer inspection, it was a body. The head was caved in from the right side. An eye open. One closed. Blood pooling near the head. A beak perfect. Not disformed. The body was twisted in an unnatural position. The wings were wrapped around the body and itself. The blood glimmered crimson under the light of the sun. It had a watchful eye over it. Just that. An eye. Just like it had had a watchful eye over the courageous chicklet that had jumped from the sky. The shrieks were more frantic, insistent. Hoarse. Her throat was seizing up. Soon, she would give up the search. Soon she was focus on the three that remained. But for now, her mother’s heart could not let her favorite go. And he had been her favorite. For now, she could not accept this. Soon, she would return empty winged. They would caw around her hungrily. Go to bed hungry. For now, she shrieked in pain. Piercing cries. Bloodied. Uncaring. Caring too much. The sun shone bright high in the sky. The clouds frolicked up there. The pooling crimson shimmered.