It was a crisp December morning. The sun drifted through the mist and conifer trees flowing down over the lake with a glowing liquidity. There was an indescribable bouquet of nature awakening and the solo song of the early robin was all that could be heard as nature in all its alacrity prepared for another day.

There was an ear-splitting crack. A frightened crow flew up from the forest heralding its horrific message. The sweet smell of dawn gave way to a pungent and acrid smell of death and decay and the vitreous blue lake turned opaque and shattered.

A small bird lay on a carpet of sharpened needles and decaying leaves. Its breast oozed a deeper red than ever it was coloured in its prime. He had once stood on a branch watching out over his children, attended by his wife sitting in his nest. Then he had known everything; he had seen and done it all; now he lay confused, with an unbearable pain in his chest and an incurable haze in his head.

A boy stood on a carpet of sharpened needles and decaying leaves. His hand tightened around the barrel of his beloved air rifle. His first kill was complete. He had killed a sparrow. Months of paper targets all forgotten in one smart pull of the trigger. Then he had no cause to think. A bullseye was a bullseye, but now it was different. Something in his head said this bullseye was a foreboding auspice.

A small bird lay on a carpet of sharpened needles and decaying leaves. Though his eyes were dimmed with blood he could still make out the unmistakable shape of a human.  The swooshing sound of his large feet moving through the leaves mixed oddly in his head with the pounding of his own heart as his life beat quickened to compensate for the loss of blood. Movement was out of the question. It was all he could do to voice his fears and call for help.

A boy stood on a carpet of sharpened needles and decaying leaves. Though his eyes were bleary from the cold air he could still make out the unmistakable shape of his favourite bird. The sharp sounds of the bird’s distress call mixed oddly in his head with the sound of his quickening pulse, as cold recognition grasped his heart and tore at his powers of reasoning. He could not move. Frozen to the spot he called his father.