Omen of Death

Charlie walked into the nearby forest, lush with life unlike the forest close to where the farm was. He hid behind a tree and watched as the farmers walked past from where he had arrived, his red eye glowing faintly in the darkness, with the two crows perched on a branch above him. When the crowd had passed, Charlie emerged and continued walking in the direction where the bandits had run. He wasn’t sure why Reynold didn’t go back with the others, so he should probably be sure he’s safe. Eventually, a place appeared before him: large structures. Buildings that looked different than the ones in the settlements he was used to seeing. The crow on his left shoulder spoke up, “Hold on, Charlie. If you go in there, people will be scared of you. You’ll get attacked again. You’ll need a disguise. For now, stick to the shadows and away from people. I’ll look around to find something,” he said, flying off above the city. Charlie wasn’t sure why people would be scared of him, but it was true that Reynold and those men who attacked his family ran away. He should probably listen to the crows.

He did as directed and walked between buildings, staying in the shadows and alleyways. Inside one of the alleys, a balding man in ragged clothing was bleeding through his shirt, his hand over the source of the blood. He breathed heavily, and his eyes flickered, staring at the moon. Charlie approached with the moon behind him, and the man didn’t show fear, but a defeated smile. To him, he saw a shadowed figure with a glowing eye and a crow on its shoulder. “Ah...I see Death has come for me. Have you come to take me away?” he spoke slowly. Charlie wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but he lifted his now gloved hand towards the man, who closed his eyes with a smile and tears running down his face. He brushed against Charlie’s hands and slumped on the floor.

Heavy footsteps came from behind Charlie, and soon rushed past him. A man with black clothes, a white strip around his neck, and short gray hair with blue eyes leaned down, pulled out a wand, and put it against where the man had been stabbed. It glowed white, and the wound began to close. He put his fingers on the man’s neck and smiled with a sigh. “Still alive.” He picked up the man over his shoulder and grunted a bit as he stood up. “You there. Let’s go. I’ll help patch you both up,” he said, turning his back to Charlie and walking further down the alley.

“I don’t trust this guy, Charlie,” the crow on his shoulder said.

Charlie wasn’t sure why the crow said that. After all, he helped that man, right? Ignoring the crow, Charlie followed the man to a door with a lantern beside it. He followed the man inside the room, and there was a fireplace, a red couch, a green rug, a bookcase, and a large portrait of a beautiful tree with different colored buds that was surrounded by clouds. The man in black rested the homeless man on the couch and walked up to Charlie and bent down with a smile. “My, my...you seem weathered, friend. I take it you don’t drink tea, but let me see if I can patch you up.”

The crow flapped its wings and cawed defensively, but the man ignored it. “Don’t worry, my beaked friend, I mean no harm.”

He went to the bookcase and grabbed a box on top of it, taking off a lid and pulling out a needle and some red thread that matched the color of Charlie’s flannel shirt. He went back to Charlie and looked over him once before he began stitching his clothes that got ripped by the arrows. “You’re probably wondering why I am not afraid. Well, I am a priest of the Mother Tree religion. We believe not to judge others based on appearance. You must have been given life for a reason. I’m sure things haven’t been easy. My name is David. Do you have a name?”

Charlie couldn’t answer. His stitched mouth prevented him. Could he even talk if it wasn’t?

The crow on his shoulder spoke, “Cah-ree.”

The priest looked surprised. “Ah, Cahree?” The crow pecked at the priest’s face angrily.

“No, you idiot! I said Charlie!” the crow tried to explain, but his biology wouldn’t allow him to pronounce Charlie’s name properly.

“Ouch! Okay, okay! I’m guessing...Charlie?”

The crow calmed down and rested his wings.

“Charlie. Alright. And do you have a name?” he asked the crow. The crow remained silent. The priest took that as a no.

“I see. I’m quite interested in what your stories are. I hope to find out someday. May I call you Birch? I feel like it suits you.” The crow cocked its head slightly, unsure of the name.

“Birch, huh? Sounds kind of stupid, but it’s not like I have any other ideas myself,” the crow said to himself.

“No complaints then? Excellent.” he finished stitching up Charlie’s clothes, but looked at his red eye. “I’m not sure if I have any buttons to put there. The button you have is rather large. I imagine it originally belonged to a large winter coat. I’ll have to go to the market tomorrow to find a suitable replacement. You can stay here for now. We can figure out how you can move safely around later.”

The man on the couch groaned, and David looked at Charlie. “You two can go in the attic for now. We don’t want to scare our sleeping friend. Follow me.”

He grabbed a nearby pole with a hook and aimed it towards a square in the ceiling. He used the hook to pull on another that was on the square, and it bent, with a ladder sliding down connected to it. “Go in there for now. I’ll be back tomorrow to patch you up properly. Go on, Charlie.”

Charlie looked at David, and then the ladder leading up to the darkness. His gloved hands grabbed the ladder, and he slowly climbed up. When he made it up the ladder, David pushed the ladder upwards and grabbed the stick to push the square back up, which folded the rest, and Charlie saw the light slowly close and became surrounded by darkness.