Hawks, Jays, and Scratches

I fly up to the group to find I am completely wrong. There are around fifty birds, and there are all hawks. They are flying towards a panicked flock of mourning doves, and do not notice me. I fly to the middle of the group to see if I can get out of the flock without being noticed. What they taught us in school about escaping a flock of haws, is to fly to the middle and out the side, so you are not noticed by any of the hawks for being alone and flying away backwards. I am in the middle of the flock. I always pictured this day as something to be proud of, something I had done in a courageous feat. But I never knew it would be so scary. There I am, in the middle of fifty birds that could kill me with one swipe of there ferocious, gleaming talons. But I am not backing down yet. 
  "I have to get out!" I think.
  No, you have to stay and prove you are courageous. The other side of me says.
  "No, I have to get out before someone kills me!"
  All the more to be proud of.
  "I am too young to die!"
  They will talk about you forever. Picture it now, 'The bird who was more courageous then any of us.'
  "I can be courageous without dying!"
  Really? 
  "Yes!"
  But I thought you always got yourself to sleep at night thinking about how your mother would miss you when you died. How she would long to have kept you in her nest? How she would have so much wanted a bird to have done something like that, and have been proud of her even before you died? I thought --
  "That's enough! Sure I wish my mother had loved me, but my real mother is dead! You, I mean, I heard Starr say it! So did you, I mean, I."
  How do you know Starr wasn't lying? How do you know she wasn't just wanting to make you feel bad? How do you know that --
  "Stop! I am in the middle of the darned hawks! Do I really have to have a fight with myself about whether I should die or not?" I end the argument.
  Wait, who is that? Circling above me? Something blue streaks across the sky and is lost form view in the sea of red-browns and whites.
  "Who is this?" The largest hawk I have seen says to me. He leers over me like a stork over a sparrow. "I saids, who is this?"
  "I- I- I'm... Starr Ling?"
  "Buck up there, Starr. We ain't gonnas kill yous yet!"
  "But I-"
  "But yous what?" He says, his beak curling and his eyes flashing. "There ain't nos buts here, Starr."
  "Where am I?" I ask.
  "Yous in our part o' the sky." He says. "The part little birdies likes yo'self shouldn't come roamin' bys yo'selves."
  "But, where are we?"
  "I said there ain't nos buts here!" He says. "And we's in the Southern parts o' the sky, the place where little birdies lik yo'self --"
  "I know! You said that already!" I say, before I can stop it.
  "What did yous say?" He says, coming closer and getting madder every second I don't answer. "Yous gonnas pay for that, little pretty."
  "Oh, a fight breaking out!" A screechy voice says behind me. Many hawks turn to watch.
  "No, no fight!" I say sweetly to them all.
  "Yes theres is a fight!" The big hawk says. He sticks his talon into his beak to sharpen it. I do the same.  He cracks his neck. So do I. He pulls back his claws into a ready position. So do I. He calls, "FIGHT!" I do not. I fly as fast as I can out of the circle but another large hawk catches me and restrains me. 
  "Get her now!" He says to my opponent. The big hawk comes over and scratches my face. It stings so much I believe I pass out. Was that right, Blue? Yes, I pass out and go limp. The very last thing I remember is something blue streaking towards me...


To Be Continued...


Signed (For Now), 
Raven