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Her parents, her siblings, her other friends and family… they all sang the same tune. It was harsh, morbid—a tale of disaster or misfortune. Passersby often steered clear if they heard their songs, afraid of what might happen if they stayed for too long.

But then, there was the crow. Her song was unlike any other, a hopeful tune, one that beckoned others closer to hear. It was a talent she found by accident, yet grew in fame from it all the same.

“Could you teach us?” a robin would ask.

Beside them, a finch would nod. “If we knew your song, then we could share it with others! Oh, please show us!”

But the crow would smile, and always respond, “I don’t believe it’s something I can teach another. It’s a talent only I possess—one that I am not supposed to have. You will be better off learning from your kind, unless you find that what I teach you is like the song of my brethren.”

She never meant it with ill-intent, and most seemed to realize that. Though, it didn’t matter how many times she turned other birds away—as her reputation grew, so did the requests, and all the eyes waiting to see what she’d do.

In time, it seemed her talents couldn’t be hidden from the world. She performed on a grand stage, inviting creatures from all over—her brethren, the deer, the foxes, the horses, and the bulls. They all heard her song, one praising unity between them, and were moved by it.

In fact, one of them even came up to her after the performance… a hawk.

“That was quite the performance,” he said with a genuine smile.

“I meant every word of it,” she replied. She looked past him, to where all the other animals were mingling—creatures that never would’ve interacted otherwise, now seeing past their apparent differences. “I hope we can make our lands flourish under the cranes. I’m certain they’re the reason I have this song—so that I can help spread their peace.”

In that moment, she saw nothing special about the way the hawk stood silent. “No matter how sudden this might seem, I was wondering… if perhaps you’d allow me to hear it again.”

“My song? Do you want to learn it..? I’ve got to warn you, many songbirds have tried, but none have succeeded—not by imitating me, nor memorizing the melody’s flow.”

“I don’t wish to learn it. I’d much rather learn more about you.”

“I don’t… think I understand. What could you want to know more about me for? This song is the only thing that distinguishes me from my brethren.”

“But there ought to be something that distinguishes you further from the individual, yes? They might be fascinated in your song… but there is still a bird behind it. You should know that it is not your song alone that leads the others to follow behind you.”

The thought was nothing she never deeply considered. She was certain—or, at least, convinced herself—that she had her song by cranes’ will. So, then, her song was meant only to bring peace between the animals, and to ensure that such tranquility would last. To think that anyone, herself included, considered her behind it… it was something foreign.

Though, not all things foreign were bad.

“Alright,” she said with a moment’s consideration. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll tell you more about me… so long as you promise to tell me more about you.”

The hawk laughed—it had a boisterous energy, despite his otherwise unsettling appearance. “I’ll take you up on that deal, little crow. I have to warn you, however—I don’t believe you’ll find my story very interesting.”

They said goodbye to each other then, but it was far from the last time that they encountered each other. Perhaps the first couple of times could’ve been excused as coincidence; after all, not all of them were due to one of her performances. But as they spent more time together, there was no denying that they were planned meetings. They’d spend time together, share pieces of their pasts.

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Once, she recalled a story of her siblings. “They’re quite loud, when they want to be. Their cries could be heard from the other side of the tree, where another family nested—it always gave a sense of foreboding, no matter how bright it was. Such is the rightful nature of a crow’s song, I suppose.” The hawk had given a thoughtful nod. Then, realizing the time, the crow realized she’d been telling stories all afternoon. Without much more consideration, she asked, “Do you have any siblings? I don’t think you’ve ever told me.”

“Didn’t I say that mine was a boring story?”

“Well, I thought most of my tales were boring, but you’ve listened to each and every one of them. It seems right that I do the same.”

He considered it enough that, for a moment, she wondered if she should take back the suggestion. But, finally, he answered, “I have two sisters.”

“Already, that’s something to talk about. What are they like? I don’t suppose you… might want to introduce them to me? My family knows of you. They’d be excited to meet you and your sisters.”

“I’m… afraid a meeting with them might be impossible.”

“Why?”

“We’ve had something of a falling out several years ago. I don’t think they’d recognize who I am now.” She couldn’t tell if his laugh was in mourning, or some kind of cynicism. “I can barely recognize them.”

“Ah…”

He shook his head. “Do you see? That’s what I meant. My past is long behind me—there’s no returning to it. No point in dwelling on something we can never go back to. We can only look towards the future.”

“I hope it isn’t… too much, if I asked if you’d be willing to stay a part of my future?”

“Of course.”

Several more nights passed by like that one; both of them expressing thoughts and desires they’d never spoken aloud. The crow began to think that she understood what her future would be—what she’d do once she fulfilled the cranes’ desires. And… a part of her even began to wonder if she’d done enough already. After all, as the days went on, more and more animals came to hear her song. Surely, she’d spread the cranes’ message far enough..?

When the hawk invited her to his roost, she didn’t question it. At first, she didn’t find she had any reason to.

“I wanted to ask you something,” he said, slowly, once they’d both settled down. “What do you think of the cranes?”

“They were the ones who gave me my song,” the crow responded. “Because of them, I’ve been allowed to do things I never should’ve been able to. I’ve spread their message—a call for unity and peace, despite our differences—across the lands. They’ve given a lot to not just me, but to every animal that resides here.”

There was something mournful about his nod. “If I were to tell you that the cranes are not who you think they are, would you believe me?”

“What kinds of grounds would you ask that question on? Do you have any proof of it?”

“Admittedly, I can’t tell or show you now. Not until I know I can trust you.”

“You don’t trust me already?”

“I trust you with my life. But not with my secrets.” He sighed. “I don’t expect it to be something you’d understand.”

Suddenly, she was starting to recognize what everyone else said about him—how frightening he was, how his very presence seemed to send a chill down her spine. “Why, then, did you ask..? What could you want me to do if you asked me something like that?”

“I need to get rid of the cranes—I swear I don’t wish all the ill you might associate with such a statement. I can explain why to you if you’re willing to believe me.” Perhaps the care in his eyes was out of honest love, or perhaps it was all part of an act. She was beginning to doubt it. “I can give you everything you’d ever want—you, your family, and all the other animals could have anything, if you want. We would never have to be apart. You could be my queen in a perfect world. All I ask you to do… is to give up your song.”

“What?”

“If I had your song, then it would only be a matter of time before the cranes will bow before me. Once they pay for what they’ve done, you—everyone—could do or be whatever you want. Please, I’ll explain it all if you just say—”

“No.” The crow took a step back. “I’m not giving you my song. Not unless you tell me what you’re using it for—not unless you give a good reason for any of this.”

“A… part of me was expecting you to say that,” he mumbled. He seemed to grow bigger; if she tried to step away, he got closer and more threatening… even if there was something mournful about it, too. “I didn’t want to do this, I want you to know that. But you’ve left me with no choice.”

The moment she tried to leave, she found that she was trapped.

“I would advise against trying to escape. It’s only going to lead to you getting hurt. And… if I were you, I would refrain from trying to sing again. Your song will be like it was meant to—the song of your brothers and sisters…”