A Warning to the Wild Things

It was the crow who broke the silence.

“I’ll tell you a story. And a warning,” he croaked. His glossy black feathers shuffled, flapping once, twice, then snapping shut.

“Beyond the woods and out past the edge of a clearing rippling with wildflowers, there appears a red scar of a trail, and that’s where a long-lashed fawn waits.”

All manner of eyes were upon him now, from the smallest finch to the noble beaver. Even the hummingbirds, with their minute attention spans, had flitted nearer to listen.

“This fawn has lived fewer days than the speckles on her coat. But Divine Instinct has spoken to her, telling her to hide until her mother returns. So is the way of deer.”

The others nodded. The crow continued his story:

“Then, from around the bend: booming voices. Footsteps. They emerge before the fawn has time to react. And these strange new beasts have spotted her.”

The beaver shudders, spraying his nearest companions with droplets of water.

“Tall, loud, and hairless. They drape themselves in baggy skins that swish and sway when they walk. Their eyes are huge and black, casting the fawn’s own terrified reflection back at her.

“‘Look at this!’ cries one, and they withdraw from a pouch a slim rectangle. It clicks loudly in the still clearing.

“‘Poor baby,’ says the other, stooping into a crouch. ‘Its mother must have abandoned it.’

“The fawn is shaking now. Divine Instinct tells her to keep her eyes lowered and her body still and small. But she is terrified. Any second now, she expects the sharp puncture of teeth around her soft throat.

“‘We can’t just leave it here to die. The little guy’s shivering. He must be cold.’ The strange beast rises and begins to shed its puffy outer skin. Its fellow continues to stare at the fawn with a wrinkled brow.

“‘He looks so sad,’ they coo. ‘Like he wants us to help him. Can you imagine what might have happened if we never found him?’

“They extend a hand. At the same time, their companion stumbles. They’ve tripped over the dangling arm of their second skin: a deep red monstrosity shiny with metal attachments.

“And the fawn seizes her chance.

“She untangles her knobby legs and with a tremendous leap, flees the clearing. Her heart thunders louder than the crashing branches and crunching leaves as she disappears beyond the wall of trees. Two surprised shouts echo in her wake.”

A collective sigh rose from the rapt crowd. The crow fixed them with a beady eye.

“I tell you this,” he said, “not to scare you away from the clearing, but to warn you of the sometimes-misguided visitors you might find there.”

He stuck out a wiry black leg and gave it a shake. The orange band looped above his foot rattled. A few of the onlookers gasped. Several even backed away, bumping into their neighbors.

“I was found once,” said the crow, drinking in the awe conjured by his story. “My wing had been injured. I waited, helpless and earthbound, to be seized by a passing predator – or else to die alone in the dirt.

“I did not understand the motives of those who found me for a long time. They took me away in a rumbling metal machine to a place of wire enclosures and caged animals.

“I was poked and prodded. I was also fed and sheltered. Over time, my wing healed. And after several cycles of sunrises and sunsets, they released me back into the wild.”

He stared down at the orange band for a moment.

“What struck me most about that otherworldly place was not the care I received, but the places from which the other animals had been rescued. Human homes. Backyards, apartments. Wild things kept as pets.” He gave a mournful shake of his head. “They will never leave that place. They never had the chance to learn how to live as we live: free and guided by Divine Instinct.

“I’d like to believe most living creatures have good and necessary intentions. We are all animals: with wants and needs and a certain number of heartbeats to make what we can of this one life. We participate in our cycle until our bodies break and nourish the next crop of living beings.

“I was lucky. The humans who found me had good intentions and knew how to accomplish them. This is not always the case, as I was reminded when I witnessed the encounter with the fawn.” He sighed wearily. “Even helping hands can hurt.”

These words were followed by a sudden snapping noise. The surrounding animals, already jumpy from the nature of the crow’s story, flinched and scanned the nearby trees.

When a second cracking of branches followed – even closer this time – all yielded to Divine Instinct; to those three, often life-saving choices: flight, fight, freeze!

The group dispersed at once in an explosion of feathers and furry limbs, and all fell silent in the woods once more.

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