As the night waned and the sun rose, a blurry form of the moon still clung to the sky. The sun still hung on the horizon. The forest was ashen. Clara walked through the forest, carrying a large bucket in each hand. The cold dawn breeze brushed against her petite limbs. Her cheeks, flushed red from the cold, were sunken, and her thin lips turned white. Her blue eyes were lifeless, like the eyeballs of a doll.

Clara wore only a ragged dress with a few stains. Her shoes were worn out and failed to serve its purpose. But the sharp pebbles and rough dirt didn't hurt her feet for the soles of her small, slender feet were already covered with calluses.

I don't want to go home. She thought, shivering from the cold. Even though her hands were getting weak from holding the bucket and her soles were turning blue, she figured it was better than going home. So she deliberately walked slowly.

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As she walked, she saw a bird's nest. A crow was calling. A small crow was feeding a worm to a larger crow's mouth. Seeing this, Clara remembered a story told by a neighbor's grandmother. It was said that crows are filial birds that take care of their parents, feeding them until they die.

But Clara had learned this the hard way— that the story her neighbor told her was a lie. Many people are mistaken, but in reality, the larger one is the chick, and the smaller one is the mother. The mother tirelessly brings food to her young until she shrinks and dies. The young leave the nest only after the mother dies.

When Clara saw the raven chick, she thought, that must be nice.

She stared at it for a while, then started walking again. No matter how slow she walked, she couldn't stop herself from reaching home.

"Why are you so late? Look, the water has frozen!" her mother scolded.

-END OF PREVIEW-