I heard soft whispers from the forest. Whispers that are comforting and strangely somehow familiar to my ears.
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I heard soft whispers from the forest. Whispers that are comforting and strangely somehow familiar to my ears.
But yet my heart beat so fast that I could hear the pounding heart in my ears as I slowly walked back to the window. I looked around and saw nothing.
"Slam!" A loud thud hit the window. I looked horrified, upon the tiny bird, that had broke it's small neck upon impact.
I took its frail body in my hands. Upon its leg there was a little role of parchment with my name on it
The note is blank, but the scent is coffee and lemongrass, excitement and danger, and is a promise all on its own. You cradle the tiny bird and go downstairs.
I grabbed a small basket, lined it with a soft towel and careful placed the bird and empty note inside and set out to venture towards the forest. This little brave messenger deserved to find his final rest buried in his native habitat.
As I walked into the forest, I heard the soft whispers again. I quickened my pace to find a place for the little bird.
The wind was blowing at the tops of the trees, which was unusual for this time of year. That is when I saw the figure dancing from tree top to tree top holding a large black bag in one hand and a sickle in the other.