010 Crouching Tiger

“What do you mean by nasty seeds?” I asked, stretching my senses outward. The moment I did, that familiar druidic impulse surged within me again, hot and insistent, demanding that I purge the corruption wherever it hid.

A wiser-sounding crow, perched on a half-collapsed roof beam, tilted its head and spoke with an almost grandfatherly rasp. “Caw… some of our brothers got greedy, young Silver One. They pecked at the black-robed cultivators,t he ones who reeked of death! Inside those corpses were ominous seeds, dark and pulsing like living curses. A few of us swallowed pieces. Now, those fools lie sick in the old shed, wings limp and eyes glassy. Not even the tastiest eyes can fix what those seeds do.”

I followed the source of my growing discomfort, the revulsion in my chest pulling me like an invisible thread. I pushed open the creaking door of a half-burned shed at the edge of the village.

Immediately, a chorus of raucous voices exploded from the rooftops and nearby branches.

“Look at that! Pointy-ears is poking around again!”

“Hah! What’s the stick-wielding freak doing now? Snooping in our turf?”

“Oi, long-nosed tree-hugger! That’s our spot! Go find your own food!”

I ignored the barrage of names and stepped inside. In front of me were over a dozen crows lying pathetically on their backs, wings sprawled open like broken fans. Their beady eyes were half-lidded and unfocused. A crow followed me in, perching boldly on the edge of the doorframe.

“They’ve been like that since they ate those nasty seeds,” the perched crow explained, voice low. “Won’t move, won’t caw. Just breathing funny.”

I walked deeper into the shed. More crows gathered on my shoulders and along the edges of the roof, their claws pricking lightly through my robes.

“What’s the big-eared one doing now?” one whispered curiously.

“Oi, don’t disturb our stupid brothers! They’re resting!”

“Shh, maybe he’s here to steal our food. Typical two-legs.”

“Look at him, all serious. Bet he thinks he can fix them with his shiny stick. Hah!”

“Quiet, featherbrain, or he’ll turn you into a nest ornament!”

There were over a dozen of them in total, seemingly comatose and reeking of that same unnatural corruption I had felt earlier.

“Lifepulse,” I intoned softly.

A gentle wave of verdant energy washed over the fallen crows. Their bodies twitched as the healing-over-time effect took hold.

The newly roused crows immediately began crying out in pain and confusion, their voices delirious and broken.

“Caw… my insides… burning… why is everything spinning…?”

“Mother… the seeds… they’re eating me from inside… make it stop…!”

“Everything tastes like ash… I’m dying… I’m already dead…!”

I thumped my staff and cast a spell.

“Thorn Whip.”

Thorny vines erupted from the ground around me, controlled precisely by my will. The crows beside me panicked instantly.

“W-what is he doing?! Those thorns look evil!”

“He’s going to kill us all! Run, brothers—run!”

“Shit! Shit! The pointy-ears has gone mad! We’re next!”

“Calm down,” I said firmly, voice steady. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

The vines moved with surgical precision, piercing the bodies of the afflicted crows, wrapping around the dark seeds lodged inside them, and crushing the foul things into harmless pulp before retracting. Black ichor dripped onto the shed floor and quickly withered away under my phytokinesis.

As for the inflicted crows? They slowly healed from Lifepulse.

I turned to the worried flock still perched on me and said, “These fellows should recover in some time. Give them rest and water. The corruption is gone now.”

The newly recovered crows blinked in confusion, slowly righting themselves and shaking out their wings. They began making idle, dazed talk among themselves.

“…What just happened? Did I dream about flying through fire?”

“My stomach feels… empty. Too empty. Where’s the feast?”

“Brother, you look like shit. Did you really eat the bad seed too?”

“Yeah… thought I was gonna join the ancestors. Everything was spinning like a typhoon…”

I walked out of the shed, brushing a few stray feathers from my shoulder. A crow that seemed calmer than the rest, with deeper, more knowing eyes and an air of gravitas, landed on a nearby post and called out to me.

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“Silver One, I thank you for saving my kin. We will not forget this kindness you’ve shown us.”

I remarked simply, “I only did what I think is right.” And in part, my druid instincts had demanded it be done, the urge to restore balance had been almost unbearable.

Just then, a younger crow on the roof started doing a noisy headcount, flapping around in circles.

“Wait… someone’s missing! One, two, three… yeah, we’re short!”

“Was it the idiot one? The one who always steals the best eyes?”

“Nah, you featherbrain, it was the fat one! The greedy bastard who ate twice as much!”