by Mary Quast
He hopped down to retrieve the offering and returned to his perch.
“My, my, aren’t you a friendly fellow.”
Extending his glistening wings, he began preening.
“I just picked up a book about crows to read. I’ll share my toast if you stay.”
She tossed another piece. He stopped grooming to retrieve it and flew back to the rail. Opening the book, she thumbed through a few pages and began to read out loud.
“It says here that you and your relatives are considered to be among the world’s most intelligent animals.” She glanced up. He’d returned to grooming himself. “Some are capable of not only using tools but also constructing tools as well.”
Pausing to nibble on the toast, she shared another piece with him. She sipped the coffee, watching him for a few moments then continued.
“They have been known to imitate the human voice, similar to parrots. Members of the species that have been trained to speak are considered valuable in parts of East Asia and are viewed as a sign of luck.” Glancing at her feathered friend again, she asked, “Are you my lucky charm? Will you speak to me?”
To her delight, he opened his straight bill and emitted a purring sound then with a twist of his thick neck, went back to cleaning.
“Crows have been shown to have the ability to visually recognize individual humans and to transmit information about ‘bad’ humans by squawking. Funny how I could have used some of those skills a few times in my life. I bet it’s useful to recognize bad people.”
The creature hummed again.
“Soft, gurgling sounds have been observed as a sort of beckoning call, or a call of affection. These noises are emitted from within his throat, resembling a cat’s purr.” She let out a squeal of delight. “So you must be fond of me then?”
He continued the low melody. Her heart responded with kindred recognition. She sensed a gentle spirit and kind soul. Would the man who Madame Eve arranged make soft sounds of fondness and summon her into his embrace? Would she be as relaxed with a man as she was with this small animal? Could a man actually protect her from her fears?
“When defending food or a nest site, they will usually enlarge their crest feathers and hunch their shoulders to increase their size.” She examined him. “I can’t imagine you being any bigger.”
He tilted his head, a gleam in his eye. Perhaps her mind played tricks, but she swore he smiled at her. Standing tall on his long black legs, he extended his wings, the wingtip feathers spread giving the appearance of strong fingers flexing. An image flashed in her thoughts of a large hand caressing her bare skin, sending an unfamiliar but pleasurable sensation of arousal across her flesh. A surge of heat rushed through her veins. Nerve endings begged for more than the phantom touch.
“In Greek mythology,” she cleared her throat in an attempt to ignore the reaction, “when Corvus the Crow told the god Apollo that his lover Coronis had been cheating on him with a mortal, Apollo became very angry. He directed some of that anger at the messenger and changed his feathers from white to black.”
With a caw, he stretched his wings and circled on the railing showing off how beautiful he was with his glossy black feathers shining blue and green.
“It is said that Apollo sent Corvus the Crow to fetch water from Crater the Cup. Eventually Corvus returned with the Cup and Hydra the Water Snake. Unfortunately, he took too long for the impatient Apollo and in a fit of anger; Apollo put the Crow in the sky along with the Cup and Water Snake, so now he’s seen as a constellation that contains eleven stars. Corvus and Apollo certainly had issues with each other. Hmm…. Do you ever get into trouble with people?”
The delightful animal cawed loudly. After skipping ahead a couple pages she read more, her heart light with amusement.
“In Hinduism, every year people whose parents or relatives died will offer food to a crow on a special day with hopes this special courier will take good tidings to the dead. In Buddhism, the protector of the Dharma is represented by a crow as one of his earthly forms. It is said that during the birth of the first Dalai Lama, robbers attacked the family home. The parents fled and were unable to get to the infant Lama in time. When they returned the next morning expecting the worst, they found their home undisturbed and a pair of crows caring for the Dalai Lama.
“Do you realize how important you are to so many cultures around the world?”
He extended his neck and nodded his head. Soft murmurs from his throat wrapped around her. Warmth and compassion embraced her heart. Even the faint breeze moving across her arms became a caress. A tender seduction teased her waking sensuality. He perched, studying her, waiting for another treat, or he found her as interesting as she found him.
“I’m enjoying your company, Mr. Crow. I hope you’ll stay with me a bit longer.”
She finished her coffee and set the mug down. Surprising her, he flew closer and landed on the table, eyeing her coffee cup. He stuck his head into the cup causing her to laugh. With a quick hop backward, he shook and let out a squawk.
“I’m afraid there isn’t any left, my feathered friend. Besides, coffee isn’t very good for animals.” She thumbed through the last few pages of the book.
“Among the Irish Celts, the raven became associated with the Goddess, Morrigan, who took the shape of the creature over battle fields as a protector of warriors.” She squinted at him. “I know you’re not a raven, but are you a protector?”
Standing tall, he flapped his wings and fluffed his feathers.
“What a fine protector you are! My hero has come.” She placed her hand on her heart. “Oh my, you are not only eye-catching but so big and strong!”
He leapt to the back of her chair and tugged on her hair band. Once the band broke free, her hair cascaded across her shoulders. With a laugh, she plucked it out of his beak. He focused his attention on the silver hoop in her ear.
“Leave the jewelry alone! These belonged to my mother and are the only thing I have of hers.” She gave him a gentle push off the chair. His feathers were silken. He gurgled, flew over to the railing, and eyed her.
“Will you let me pet you?” She slid to the edge of her chair with hopes he’d let her stroke him. “I’ll be gentle. Please don’t bit me.”
She approached him, and he continued watching her with one tentative eye. Reaching out, she lightly stroked the cool feathers on his back with her fingertips. A flow of energy traveled up her arm. A sudden calming slipped into her heart and her spirit lifted. He dipped his head as though wanting her to continue the contact. She caressed along his slick back, ending at his tail. The desire to fly filled her thoughts. The idea of such freedom and the ability to soar excited her. A sensation of feathers and wind on her skin reminded her of her aspirations for the evening.
“Wow.” Taking a deep breath, she sat in awe and picked up the book. “Let’s see if I can find anything about your beautiful feathers.”
She found a section with lore of a Native American tribe not far away. “Oh, here’s a story of why your feathers are black, according to the Shawnee!”
He let out an unexpected series of loud caws while hopping in a circle then stopped. Bending his head in silence, he remained still. His tail feathers hung low, giving the appearance of a child cloaked in a dark robe anticipating a bed time story.
“In the beginning, the pure white crow lived as brother to the buffalo. The Shawnee needed the buffalo for food and skins, but every time the Shawnee tried to hunt the buffalo, his feathered brother would warn him.
“The hunting party gathered around the campfire to prepare for the hunt. After voicing concerns about the animal relationship, one hunter offered to dress as a buffalo and grab the mischievous crow.
“The next day, the hunter pulled the buffalo skin over him and joined the herd grazing nearby. Sure enough the bird came, warning the buffalo as the Shawnee hunters approached. The hunter jumped up and caught him by his legs and carried him back to the camp.
“That night the hunters d
iscussed his fate. The smallest brave listened and watched the captured fiend. Some wanted to kill and eat him, since they were very hungry from not having any buffalo meat in their bellies. Others wanted to let him go, thinking that he had learned his lesson and would not warn buffalo again.
“The hunter became angry, grabbed the prisoner and threw him in the fire. The smallest brave, seeing the poor creature turning black from the flames and soot, grabbed him from the flames. Furious with the brave, the hunter yelled, ‘Crow deceives us; we are hungry and cold because he warns buffalo! Yet you save him from the flames!’ In a timid voice, the small brave said, ‘He warns his brother just as I would warn you, my brother.’
“Everyone stood still, thinking about what he’d said. Despite being shaken and blackened from the flames, the crow heard him and spoke. ‘I am blackened for warning buffalo, who is my brother. I now say Shawnee is my brother also. I will never warn buffalo of your hunt and you, brother Shawnee, will remember to give thanks to buffalo for giving himself to you for food to fill your belly and skins to keep you warm.’
“The hunter stood. ‘Crow is our brother. Buffalo is our brother, also. We will only hunt buffalo when we require food and will remember to always give thanks for the life given. Brother Crow will remain black, so he too can remember of his promise to never warn our brother buffalo.’”
With a sigh, she smiled and held the book for a moment. She loved Native American tales and the legend engulfed her to the point she almost forgot about reading aloud. “What a wonderful story.”
One black eye focused on her. His keen interest and kindness gave her the impression of being almost human. Could a man listen to her voice with the same attention? Could a man make her heart cheerful with simple actions?
Chapter Three
“The Crow is a carrier of souls from darkness into light and defeats fear in the shadows. He is a keeper of spiritual law.” Her breath caught in her throat and she lifted her eyes to meet his black, glassy stare. “I wish I could keep you with me always and you could shield me from my own fears lurking in the shadows of my mind.”
If only the legend were true and her new, feathered friend could rescue her spirit. Exhaling, she closed her eyes and rested her head on the back of the chair. Inside dwelled a person wanting to escape the past of loneliness and abuse, to rise above and be a strong woman.
“I wonder if you are truly a magical creature,” she mumbled, the words pouring from her innermost thoughts. “Can you carry my soul from gloom into brilliance? Can you take from me a fear that dwells so deep within? Can you heal me so I may trust others?”
Opening her eyes, she found him watching her.
“I’m not comfortable around people and would rather spend time with animals. I lived a lousy life, abused as a child and my teen years were worse, my innocence lost. I don’t trust easily. I want to be a normal person. I want to enjoy human relationships…well…the good kind of relationship between a man and woman. I want to be a real, sensual woman and experience things that other women do; I want to be confident in my own skin. That…in a nutshell…is why I’m here. Crazy as it sounds….”
Her throat tightened and she cleared it before continuing. “I feel like there’s a sensuous woman living inside me, but I don’t know how to bring her out. As of this moment, I’m too scared to even approach a guy. I’m hoping a one-night stand with the right man will lead me to the transformation I wish for and free me to really live. I want to experience passion, desire and tenderness.”
Putting her head into her hands, she croaked, “Can you believe it? I’m so stupid. Here I am talking to a bird like he’s a person when I should be getting ready for my date. Maybe I should pack my bags and leave.”
The delicate beat of wings whispered in her ears and the rocker moved from the weight of him as he landed. She sat up and wiped a tear from her cheek. He began tugging at her earring.
“Really? Again with the earring?” She tried to lean out of reach. “I suppose it’s true that crows like to steal shiny objects and always act the clown. Is it because you seek the bright and shiny aspects of life?”
With unrelenting focus, he elongated his neck.
“Or are you getting tired of my reading?” She shooed him away.
With a sharp backward pull, he yanked the silver loop out of her ear and took to the sky.
Jumping from her seat with a yelp, she raced off the porch. “Damn you!” She shook her fist at him. “Give that back to me!”
The silver hoop glistened in the tight hold of his beak. He taunted her. Keeping her eyes on him, she walked away from the cottage. As he flew close, he emitted a throaty grumble before flying toward a path leading into the woods. The mission of retrieving the earring became a game of follow the leader.
She wanted her jewelry returned, but the words from Madame Eve’s note haunted her. May you learn from the spirit of the Crow. Something told her to follow the thief. She ran along the well-traveled dirt trail, and he glided ahead, beckoning her to follow.
The canopy of trees shadowed the corridor, the cool air fragrant with pine, cedar and sweet fern. Woodland flowers dotted the route. She ducked under a low pine branch, giddiness swelling within her. Taking pleasure in the sudden happiness, she followed the path until the forest opened to a field and a lake.
A little winded, she slowed her pace, becoming conscious of the beauty surrounding her. She stood in the same meadow depicted in the painting above her bed. Flying to a large oak tree in the center of the meadow, he slowed then perched.
Mountains climbed from the edges of the lake reaching for the cloudless sky. Envisioning she was the first human to witness such beauty, she listened to the whispering pines, lapping waves, and songs of the living earth. No boats graced the water, no calling children played, only pure nature. Clean air filled her lungs with every purifying breath. Dropping her robe to take in the rays of sunlight, she journeyed to the beach. Enchanted, she extended her arms and waded into the water in expectation of a baptism by nature.
She imagined the spirits of the natural world calling out to her and instructing to let go of the loneliness. A simple task of emotional spring cleaning so room could be made for the physical intimacy she craved. Standing with the water surrounding her legs, an eerie power seeped into her pores. Tingling pulses in rhythm with the waves traveled through her cells.
Looking at her own reflection in the water, she watched a grin find its way from her heart to her lips. A shadow circled above, still carrying her earring. In a bold move, she flexed her fingers in invitation for him to land on her arm. Tucking his head, he arched his wings and flapped in short, quick strokes, accepting her unspoken summons. He landed on her wrist and dug his feet into her skin. A drop of blood beaded under a claw. Shifting his weight, he gazed into her eyes. Held in the ebony pools, her soul reached out to his. A longing to soar on the waves of the wind made her arms ache. Her vision grew hazy. The image of an ancient warrior with copper skin, strong brow and chiseled features, flashed in her mind then disappeared.
He dipped his head and broke the gaze then flexed his toes, apparently uneasy about the wound on her wrist. Lucy blinked.
“It doesn’t hurt.” She gave him a small smile.
After a gentle game of tug-o-war and an unsuccessful attempt to retrieve her earring from his beak, she tapped her fingers on his back to distract his attention in hopes that he’d drop it.
But content with his position on her arm, he held the earring tight. With her arm extended slightly, she left the water and sat on the warm sand of the beach. She tucked one foot under her while keeping one knee raised to rest her arm and support his weight.
Gazing upon him with wonder as he sat at ease, she slid her palm leisurely over his back and stroked his lustrous feathers. The heat of the animal greeted her skin and a low, throaty sound drifted to her ears.
“You are so beautiful; I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything or anyone so perfect.” A sudden, strong yearning to fly a
nd soar on the winds of passion possessed her. In the daydream, strong hands touched her, drawing out her feminine cravings. Erotic visions of lying under a dark warrior flamed her desire to life. She imagined charcoal eyes and a masculine face framed by wild strands of black hair.
Inner strength rose and unlocked the door of reservations, opening it to the pleasure of human contact. She welcomed the strange power that greeted her. The crow gave a low purr then shuddered and flew to the oak tree with the silver earring still in his grasp.
“You’re not going to give my earring back, are you?” She shook her fist. Pacing under the tree, she called out to him several times “Please, give it back. Crow!”
So very unusual from any animal, or human for that matter, that she’d ever known. Perhaps magic does exist. Something fascinating had transpired between her and the creature, yet she didn’t understand it all.
Without a glance at her, he focused on the mountains before him. With a sigh, she paused again to absorb the beauty of the panoramic view and thought of Madame Eve’s words. May you discover the magical power of the mountains and their crystal clear waters.
Majestic mountains jutted into the heavens from the green robe of earth and trees. She breathed in the enchanted air.
“Maybe it’s time to quit holding on to all things of the past.” For some reason the world seemed brighter. “If you truly are a spirit, then I guess I just have to accept defeat. I hope you enjoy it as much as I have. However, if you change your mind, I’ll be in the cottage until tomorrow and you can bring it back to me.”
Without a sound, he crouched then leapt into the air, taking flight over the lake and out of sight. The loss of the earring didn’t affect her as much as she’d thought it would. Her adventure with her feathered friend materialized into a lesson of self-growth. Her new, fragile, emotional state developed into a fresh beginning with the confidence to prepare for her date.
