THE WILD GRASS

Excerpt from Chapter 1.

“There are no rules about where we find our friends, Titus.”

“Maybe, maybe,” Titus shook one wing. “However, you know that hunger dictates how long friendship lasts.  Such friendship is limited. When time comes - push to shove - we cannot afford good manners.”

“A choice we each make, Titus.” Rembrandt eyed the bigger bird uncomfortably. “I will not feed on my friends, though you may.” The words stuck in Rembrandt’s craw as he spoke.

“Ah, no need to get touchy, my brindle friend.”

“Grim as ever, Titus. I will not stay to make small talk with the devil on such a fine morning. Life is too short. Goodbye, Titus.”

“Has ever been thus on Karta, Rembrandt. This is the way of things,” the crow persisted.

“Vicious fowl!” the magpie thought to himself and, lifting his wings, took several steady wing beats away and off into the paddock, a head-wind forcing him to fly low over the flock of sheep.

“Do not pretend. You are not so high and mighty that you can deny the truth!” The crow cawed loudly after the magpie’s diminishing figure.