fiction by Kali Goodchild
DOVE WAS BORN IN A FOREST where she flew about the trees and clearings. She greeted each new day with a song of joy. On sunny days she even seemed to glow.
One fall day when winter was approaching, Dove met Cardinal. The two birds shared many things and became great friends. But the other animals in the forest began to resent Dove.
“Why should Dove get to fly?” grumbled Rabbit.
“Why does Dove get to play with Cardinal all the time?” chittered Mouse.
“Why does Dove think she is better than us? Wings aren’t that great,” Fawn huffed.
When winter melted to spring, Cardinal and her family left. Dove missed the friendship she had created with Cardinal. She yearned to have it again. But when Dove tried to make friends with the other forest animals they ignored her.
One morning, Fawn called up to Dove. “Dove, won’t you come play with me?”
Overjoyed, Dove sang back, “I would love to.”
“But Dove I can’t come up to play with you. Won’t you please come down to join me on the ground?” asked Fawn.
“Of course,” sang Dove, “anything so we can be friends.” Dove floated down from her perch.
“I want to play a game” Fawn said, “you have to climb into the log over there.”
“I don’t know, Fawn, that looks dangerous,” Dove answered.
“How silly you are Dove. But if you don’t want to be my friend, I guess I understand…”
Unsure, Dove hopped into the log then poked her head out. “Like this?” she asked. “This truly is an odd game.”
“No! You have to go all the way in,” Fawn rolled her eyes.
So Dove did as Fawn said. Once Dove was half-way down the log, Fawn sat down in front of the entrance, and Rabbit hopped in to block the other end.
“Hey guys, you are scaring me,” squeaked Dove.
Rabbit and Mouse did not answer Dove as they advanced on her. Fear froze her as Rabbit held her down and Mouse took his claws and teeth to her. Dove begged Mouse to stop and Rabbit to let her go, but they didn’t listen. The pain was worse than anything Dove had ever experienced before; she screamed, and she cried until her voice became hoarse. When Mouse was satisfied with the damage he’d done, Rabbit let her go, and they scurried out. Dove didn’t follow; she was a mess of broken bones, blood, and feathers.
Dove wondered how she had wronged the animals. Why would they do this to her? What had she ever done to deserve this? If someone hurt you, it was because you’d done wrong…right? But as she floated in the plane between life and death, her thoughts began to change. As the sun set, Dove came to a new conclusion. She had done nothing wrong; it was the animals that were wrong. She decided that if the animals wanted her ugly, then something ugly she would be; this new purpose changed her. She fed off bugs in the log while determined to survive. Her bones healed, but her voice stayed hoarse. Her blood had dried into a dark and tacky mess; the dirty and decay clung to her, tainting her black. At night she crawled to the opening in the log and watched Fawn, Rabbit, and Mouse. They never came near the log; they didn’t want to see what they had done.
When the right day came, she crawled out into the twilight, spread her wings, and took flight. Dove was no longer Dove; she had become Crow. The forest animals cowered at the sight of her.
“Who is this creature of the night?” squeaked Rabbit.
“What does it want?” cried Mouse.
“You don’t think…” quivered Fawn.
Crow landed on a branch where all could see her. “I am what you made me,” she cackled. “I was once Dove, but you scarred my body and destroyed who I was. Now, I am Crow—an ugly creature who will torment you for the rest of your lives.”
And she did. Crow cackled in the night to ruin the animals’ sleep. She often stole their hard earned food and chased them with the threat of her ragged claws. The animals could not take Crow’s torment so they left to find new homes. It was all the same to Crow, or so she thought.
***
THE FOREST APPEARED empty; no animals dared come near the trees that Crow lived in. Rumors had spread far and wide about her. Crow spent much of her time watching; her empty eyes followed the shadows of animals that passed quickly, hidden beneath the shelter of trees. The ghost of her wounds still haunted her every night. What purpose did she have with the others gone? She was all alone now, wasn’t that what she had wanted? Without others to hurt her, shouldn’t she feel better?
One evening, as night neared, a great shadow passed overhead. She felt the force of air as wings flapped; someone had landed in her tree. She puffed out her chest and flew up toward the intruder.
“Who dares to land in my tree?” she screeched before she saw him. Looking up, her heart beat like a hummingbird’s wings. Before Crow sat Eagle—at least three times her size. Eagle had a scarred beak, and his claws caught the light, revealing them to be deadly sharp. His eyes locked on her with an intensity that made her want to fly away.
“Eagles don’t come out at night,” she squeaked as she took a step back.
“I came to see the fearsome Crow, but all I find is dirty Dove,” Eagle said, tilting his head in curiosity.
“You’re wrong!” Crow puffed herself up as big as she could go, “I am Crow.”
“I know what I see, little Dove,” Eagle looked at her, daring her to challenge him.
“You don’t know anything,” she croaked.
“Then tell me what it is that I do not know.”
Eagle and Crow sat through the whole night as he listened to her story and told her a little of his own. A slight change in the air told Crow that dawn was near; it was then that she finally fell silent.
“That was a hard thing to share,” Eagle finally said. Crow nodded her agreement. Eagle then lowered his beak down to her and raised a talon to his scar, “see this? It is one of my scars from a very hard time in my life.”
“It shows your strength,” she said with sadness, “unlike mine. I was once beautiful, but now I am hideous.”
“Listen well, little Dove, you are still beautiful.” began Eagle. “You just have to let it show. We all get hurt and while the marks left may be permanent, the damage is not. Dove is still in you, always has been, she is just hiding behind the pain. If you can let the pain go, you can soar once more.” With his last words, Eagle took off into the first rays of morning light.
Eagle’s words struck Dove, tears rolled down her feathers, and she felt somehow lighter. She flew by those first rays of light to the nearby stream. She hesitated a moment at the edge before she splashed in. The stream carried away the filth that clung to her. Dove felt lighter as she bounced up and down letting the crisp water cover her from head to toe. When she emerged, the light of dawn radiated off her.
Dove flew back to her part of the forest and sang, a once forgotten song, to the bright new day. It wasn’t long before new animals came to investigate; this was not the hoarse cackle of Crow. Squirrel bounded up the tree to speak with Dove.
“What are you doing here, Dove? Don’t you know nasty Crow lives here?” chittered Squirrel.
“I don’t see any Crow,” she said before returning to her song.
Squirrel disappeared for a while before returning with Sparrow. Dove continued her song, her voice growing stronger.
“Are you new to this area, Dove?” squeaked Sparrow.
“I suppose you could say that,” Dove replied. Sparrow looked at Dove’s scarred face, hopping around in contemplation.
“In that case, welcome to the forest,” Sparrow chirped.
Dove made no reply. Sparrow and Squirrel decided to leave her alone. From that day on, Dove greeted each new day with a loving song.
One cloudy day Dove heard mutterings about Crow from the animals that had moved into the area: Squirrel, Sparrow, and Fox.
“Do you think she moved away?” chittered Squirrel.
“Do you think she died?” pondered Fox.
“Do you think she could come back?” squeaked Sparrow.
“I think,” Dove said, gracefully swooping in, “Crow never even existed. I once heard a story about the animals that lived here before us. There was a beautiful little creature that the other animals envied. That envy drove the animals to torment the little creature until she was just a shadow of her former self. The other animals were consumed by guilt for what they had done and left to find new homes in the hope that they could forget.” The animals looked at Dove with wide eyes.
“I ate Rabbit a while ago, he told a similar story,” said Fox to break the silence.
“If that is true, then it is an awful thing. I feel sorry for Crow,” Sparrow chirped, her eyes lingering on Dove’s scar.
Dove tilted her head to gaze back at Sparrow, but Sparrow said nothing.
“Would you like to join us in a game?” Squirrel asked.
“No,” said Dove shaking her head, “there is someplace else I’d rather be.”
Dove took flight. Despite her scars, she was still Dove. No one could change that, not even her.