Assassin Crow Evolution

Chapter 26: The Funeral

Even though he was distressed, Jimmy whispered his complaints, so as to not wake up his friend.

Regardless of his efforts, Virena quickly woke up. Sensitive to any and all sounds, she punched the rat a couple of times, fearing that it had started moving.

"Relax," he said, "The rat is as dead as a rat can be."

"Good," she said, as she stretched, throwing her body backwards like a cat.

"Can you fill me in on what happened?" He asked.

"Yes," She said, "I killed the eagle."

"I remember that," He said, "What happened after? Where are the crows?"

"After I killed the eagle, the crows flew away one after the other," she explained, "An old crow came to check on you. He was cawing at me, trying to talk to me, but I didn’t understand."

"So they just left me here, do I understand that right?" He followed along.

"It looks like they did, but looking back, I think that crow came here to check on you, but I wouldn’t let him get close." She added, "Then two more old crows came to check on you. One of them spoke my language."

"This is getting confusing," he took a deep breath.

"Yes... imagine how I felt. I never thought I’d meet two crows who spoke my language." She shook her head, "I let that old crow get closer to you. He didn’t find any wounds on you, and so he believed that you’d recover soon."

"So that’s why they left me here?" He said.

"Yes, and no," she said, "The eagle killed a crow, remember? The elders were preparing the victim for a proper burial. Second, that eagle attack wasn’t random, and the elder said that the crows were now at war. The elders, and the whole crow community are rushing to prepare for the worst. I think that’s why they left you here."

"At war?" He parroted, "With what? Eagles?"

"He wouldn’t say," She lowered her head, confused, "But the old crow did ask for you to join the burial. Since the burial is yet to happen, I suggest that you join, and express your sadness."

"A war..." He looked up at the sky, frustrated, "They beat the crap out of my father because they wanted to avoid wars. Why put all us crows at risk just because a single crow was killed?"

"Maybe the elders know something we don’t?" She added.

He sighed, and said, "I guess we’re going to a crow funeral."

Afterwards, he asked, "Where’s my dagger?"

...

A bundle of crows is called a murder. A group of sixty-two crows fell under the same description.

Folklore won them that name, as they were often associated with death, as if they brought death wherever they flew.

In this case, the murder of crows performed what was the polar opposite. They mourned the death of a fellow crow.

To gain the reassuring feeling of solace over their loss, they had prepared a burial for the crow whose light had been sapped out of its eyes. They were silent, they were alert, and they shared the sour emotion of dread.

The one-foot long grass across the meadow made navigation difficult once they were on the ground, but they did not fear an attack. With so many crows on the premises, danger would be frantically announced far before any of the murder of crows could get hurt. They trusted their system.

The rain-slicked grass made them feel cold. Even if it was summer, no one wanted to get wet this early in the morning, but they soldiered through nonetheless.

Jimmy landed on the meadow, following the directions that Virena had memorized on his behalf.

"Funerals are held outside of the city, huh?" He whispered as soon as he landed, "Why didn’t we ever hunt here? I saw at least thirty bugs when we went past the walls."

Virena didn’t understand him, and perhaps that was for the best. She’d be upset otherwise. They saw plenty of mantises as they flew by, even if she refused to communicate with any of them.

Jimmy was the sixty-third to join the funeral. He was late. He could tell that he was late, because the elders began the ceremony as soon as they saw him land.

"My fellow crows," The elder called for attention, "Today we’re gathered to mourn the passing of Tornas, one of our own. A well-adjusted crow who went away from us far too soon. He was less than one spring old. He was young. He never got to build his own nest, and enjoy the pleasures of parenthood."

He continued, "It pains me to say this, but he shared the same, painful, undeserving fate as the rest of us when he was alive. The city behind us wouldn’t give him a break. It treated him just as horribly."

The murder of crows remained silent as the ritual unfolded. Every word the elder uttered, sunk to their bones.

His voice began to shake as he expressed, "It is my obligation to once more remind you that this isn’t the life we deserve. In the old days, we used to be a powerful community. Crows lived up to ten springs, some fifteen, even, but look around you, there are not so many elderly crows for us to count. Five of us elders remain, myself included. Too little. I don’t remember the last time that our crows died of old age."

"I hope that good days await us," He said, "But let us pay our respect to Tornas. May the world past this one treat him better."

Once the elder was done with his speech, the crows around him began to bury the crow who had succumbed to the arbitrary nature of death.

A two foot wide, and one foot deep hole had been dug for Tornas. The crows who surrounded his grave, covered him with dirt by thrashing their claws against the loosened mud.

Tornas was buried. His blade was laid near his mangled body.

The murder of crows remained there after the burial. Silence, and the melodic song of insects enveloped the meadow for thirty minutes. Each of their individual respect for Tornas was portrayed by how long they stood here after he was buried.

After that interval, they began to leave a few at a time. Up until most of them were gone.

In the end, only six crows out of the sixty-three remained in the meadow.