The sound of gunshots, it attracts the interest of one of my kindred; it might mean food so she goes to look. A young vulture lays at the base of a dead pine, but my child sees that it is not dead, just stunned, and watches two humans, one an adolescence the other much younger. The older one carries a gun and seems pleased with himself. He only killed to make himself feel bigger it seems to me. I have never understood them; this need to kill just to kill. My sister seems to have some kind of fascination with them for some reason that is beyond me and I question her sanity at times.

Lost in my thoughts, the small human moves toward the raptor once the older one is out of sight. For some reason, (it was my greatest weakness boredom. And that boredom would show me a way to correct one of my greatest mistakes) I stay to see what happens. He is dirty, bruised, not healthy, lonely and scared; it spills off him in waves and crashes into the vessel I am looking through. How can this species survive treating their young this way? Only humans are cruel to their own kind for no reason. Nature is not cruel; at least that is the way I see it, I am not cruel, and it is my natura I should know.

He reaches out and strokes the bird’s head. To my surprise, the raptor does not seem to be afraid. I hear the child ask, “Will you be my friend?” almost in a whisper. The raptor looks at him and tries to stand; falling back down. He is hurt but not mortally it seems, and he is as big as the young human whom I see. Who now picks him up and holds him to his chest as a mother would hold her young and hurries off through the woods.

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As I lose sight of the two, my interest is peaked and I ask my kindred to follow them. She finds them coming out of the woods, crossing a path and approaching a house. The young human, struggling to carry something as big as he is, he stops and looks around - in fear it seems and then makes a dash toward a small building, I have seen these before. Humans house those dumb, loud fowl they eat in them. Though none seem to be there now. The child goes inside carrying the raptor. He comes out a bit later; dashing off into another building. I can hear horses there. I start to get bored but after a bit the child returns with a dead rat and goes back to the small house, he put the young raptor in then comes back out without it. I now understand he is feeding the bird. How odd. I want to see how this plays out. As the human child leaves, I ask my kindred to fly down and see how the raptor is doing. He is on his feet now and looks at me with a hint of shame. “Come to tease me? “ he asks.

Fair question; Ravens do like to pull the tails, feathers, ears of others. Call it a hobby.

“No,” I say then, “Why are you not afraid of the human?” I ask.

He looks at me and I can tell it is not the young one I talk to now, but one of the greater ones. He replies “Have you become so jaded or out of touch that you cannot see kindness anymore, One Mother?”

After some thought I realize he was right. I have spent most of my time high in the trees trying to ignore the game so many of these new ones are playing. Put simply, I have lost touch. No, more accurate I have lost control of what is mine. Now to figure out what is wrong and why and fix it. Not as easy as it sounds even for someone like me.