How Crow got Black Feathers

Once, long ago, there lived a beautiful bird. This bird's feathers shone with the radiance of the joyous sun, and glowed with the essence of the mysterious moon. This bird's voice sounded of the graceful wind dancing through the most majestic forest, and rose through the air to play with the stars. This bird's name was Crow.

Crow's gift of song and beauty made him very selfish, and rude. He shared his arrogance with every creature, even the clouds and the trees, for none were as gifted as he. All the other creatures were envious of Crow, and so held their respect over their hatred for Crow's malevolent ways, all except Raven.

No creature was treated as poorly as Raven. None attracted Crow's fell attention as did he. Perhaps this was because of Raven's strange feathers being more black and nightly than any other's, or his craggy caw not a breath's resemblance to Crow's melody. Or, perhaps, it was Raven's kindly, never-minding attitude towards everything.

You see, Raven was always accepting, always kind-hearted and giving of calm happiness, even to Crow. Whenever Crow would be his usual insulting self, Raven would just say, "Yes, Crow, it is true, and you are very gifted. But be forewarned, you keep mistreating that gift and it will be taken away." Crow hated Raven with determined heart, and thus ever did his malice go on.
One lush summer's day, Crow was flying amongst the whispy clouds high in the sky, staying as he always did in the friendly sun's glare so as to make himself look all the more glorious. Like ever before, Crow was greedy to the emanating taste of pride. Even if he didn't hear it directly from the ones who watched below, he figured he could feel their jealously, simply because he knew it was there. Whether this was a truthful fact or not, what Crow thought he thought, without a glance of resistance from anything else.
Anyhow, as Crow meddled these thoughts, apair of devious eyes watched from below. They belonged to Magpie. Magpie danced on a branch in the expansive forest land below, eyeing Crow with a troublesome mind. As you see, Magpie was one of the most envious of creatures for Crow's astounding gift, and more so on the side of beauty. As he hopped on that branch, Magpie grew so jealous of Crow, he decided something rashly. He would take one of Crow's feathers.

"Mine-mine, yes?" he ranted. "One feather, for me? Crow not mind, no, just one feather? Yes, me take 'one' feather, Crow not even notice... Yes, feather mine!"

And so thus decided, Magpie followed Crow from below, darting in and out of the trees and thus out of Crow's sight. Every now and then he would huff with new-found courage and brave higher in the sky, the bold act fluttering away like a leaf in the wind as he scrambled back to safety. Magpie repeated this method over and over, loosing more faith in his scheme every time, until he saw his opening.

Crow started to descend towards the lake.
"Of course!" Magpie shrilled. "Crow need drink sometime, yes, and when he does, me shall be there, then me get feather, yes, feather mine!"

And so Magpie raced towards the lake, there hiding while Crow approached. When Crow landed, gliding with an elegance towards the water's edge, Magpie started to sneak up on him from behind. Mouth open and eyes wide, Magpie got closer, and closer, closer, then... With a surprised cry that came like the deep drone of a bell, Magpie plucked one of Crow's feathers.

As Magpie took to the sky with Crow's feather, Crow spun around and fumed. As you see, Crow treasured his feathers as one would treasure dear life, now he was short one. And so did Crow charge after Magpie.

They flew up and down, in circles and twists, and still not one of them would give up. They flew like mad dogs with no sense of stopping, even as the sky became dark. The chase went on even as the sky blackened, the two swept higher and higher, even as the first low boom sounded in the distance. Magpie recognized the warning of the thunder, and his confidence started to trickle away as the parade of cautious booms grew closer.

"Give me back my feather," sang Crow like a low wind, oblivious to anything else, "you filthy no-good thief!"

Magpie didn't answer. When Crow uttered the word "thief", a great, purple-white tongue of lightening struck down inches from Magpie's beak. That was it for Magpie, forgetting completely about the feather he was suppose to be stealing; he dropped it in a loud squeal, spinning head over tail and dashing away in a desperate flurry of his own feathers. Magpie never flew that high again.

Yet, though Crow had been dead-set on bringing the full wrath of his vengeance upon Magpie, the sight of his precious feather spiraling down to the murky darkness below caused it to slip his mind. Crow was too blinded by that one feather to be vigilent, or to use common sense. He dove towards it.

The feather was swept downwards in a rush and disappeared. Crow searched, continuing his speedy fall, until something caught his eye. It was a glow, a shimmering, like his feather! It must be! Crow took off with renewed determination towards it. As he got closer, a small doubt ebbed at the corner of his thoughts, but he ignored it. It had to be his feather; he was so close now, what else could it be... Then came his stark realization.

It wasn't his feather.

Crow tried to stop, to change direction, but his speed wouldn't falter. He dropped like a stone flung from a cliff, flung into the roiling flames below. It had not been his feather, for it was a tree, engulfed in flames from a lightening strike. He hadn't had the sense to notice, to realize the simplicity of such danger, until it was too late.

Crow's glorious feathers, the ones he still had, now burned away, taken by the fire's hunger. He cried for help, the heat and soot and strain choking his melodious voice, and no help came. It was vain to struggle, he knew, and as his last feathers rose away in a tail of smoke, he sadly closed his eyes.

But, suddenly, it was over, the thirsting heat swept away in a cooling relief, and he was alive. When Crow opened his eyes again, he nearly gasped, had his voice not been so tortured. It was Raven, holding Crow by his featherless wings with a gentle care and flying far from the vicious fire. Somehow, Raven knew the question Crow bore.

"I saved you, Crow," Raven said with a remarkable wisdom and grace Crow had never noticed before, "because you are a creature like any other and, now, you are no better either. No matter of first consequence, all deserve a second chance to prove themselves, and I believe that with patience, all can find the heart to do right."

Crow looked at his featureless skin, his bald ugliness so cruel he had to look away.

"Do not worry, Crow," Raven said with sympathy, "I shall give you some of my feathers, if you respect them as the gift they are."
So Crow received his black feathers, and never treated anyone poorly for their looks or song again. But sometimes, you can find Crow collecting shiny things, always hoping he will someday find his lost feather.
The End