For the Solstice: "Invictus"

[dianeduane]

In the dimness he woke and knew it was too late. Morning never came so late unless the world was ending.

Fortunately, he knew what to do about that.

He blinked and ruffled his feathers, looking around. This was his place. Surrounding a patch of grass were two holly trees, a pine, a cypress whose branches all went the wrong way, and much shrubbery, mostly beech and thorn. The shelter was good here, even on nights like last night. And in the holly, food appeared hung up: good food that tasted of fat and meat. It was all his. Later, when it was time for sex, there would be someone else who’d get some of it. But right now, he owned it.

This cold white stuff on the ground did complicate matters. It came and went without warning, and here it was again. Now, others who might have spent the morning scratching around the ground instead of stuffing themselves full up here would be turning up in his territory, eating his food. His feathers ruffled up again, this time with rage at the thought. Bastards. Bastards. Kill them all.

He hopped up onto the branch that had the best view across the patch of grass and into the bushes, and sang. Bastards! Who wants a piece of me? Come and get it! Because this was when it had to be said, no matter how much you might have preferred to sit quiet with your feathers fluffed up, conserving your heat. The dim sky was already paling toward that too-cold blue. It would be a bad day, cold, everybody and his family would turn up here trying to get at the tree food, which was what you needed this time of year if you meant to stay alive until dusk –

And suddenly he heard the harsh dark cawing coming from across the hardened path, across the wall, in the wood full of tall starved pines. He shivered. Not so early, he thought, what are you doing up at this hour? But he knew. That one wanted the tree-food too. It had come for it before. Now, in the silence before the morning wind, he heard the flapping of the wings.

Hastily he turned to the food cage, ate a few mouthfuls, felt the fat melt down his throat like blood, like life. Almost before he finished, the darkness had landed with a noisy thrash of leaves and branches up in the holly. A huge expressionless black eye gazed down at him.

He sang. It was almost all he could do. It’s mine! Stay away, or I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! But the outcome was hardly so simple. The black-headed, white-backed shape with the axe-like beak bounced down another branch, and another, its eye on that tree food, that meat. It liked meat too. He’d once seen it zoom down onto the pond and simply pick up a baby duck and fly off with it. I’ll kill you if you get any closer! Don't push me! I will!

It came closer. It was winter, it was death, the shape now only one branch of holly away. He sang as if life depended on it: because it did. If he had enough to eat, the sun came up. If the sun came up, the world was safe. It was as simple as that. Go away! I have to eat the food or the world will end! I’ll kill you to keep that from happening! Monster, go away, don’t make me rip you up -- ! He fluttered at the monstrous gaping head, enraged, desperate.

A clacketing, rattling noise from behind. The black eye went wide, the death-pale bulk roused its wings and flapped clumsily out of the holly tree. Desperate with relief, he flung himself at the food-cage again, and ate with frantic speed as the sky paled brighter, toward day-blue: and between mouthfuls, he sang at the top of his lungs, shuddering with relief and triumph. Bastard! I warned you not to mess with me! Victory! Victory!

The sun peered up over the far hill. The shadows fled. He gorged himself as the black bird flew off, and stopped, and shouted again, Victory!

...She stood there with her teacup in one hand, looking out across the back yard snow at the dot of red breast deep in among the holly branches, pecking furiously at the suet in its little cage. “Boy,” she said to the husband, back in the kitchen, “listen to that little guy. You’d think he’d just won World War Three.”

“Yeah. Where’s the milk?”

The door closed. On the snow, the sun of the shortest day shone.

Victory!

Comments

[http://users.livejournal.com/la_marquise_de_/]

That sounds very like the robin in our garden, too. Thank you.

[janewilliams20.livejournal.com]

Sounds like it's a good job I refilled the bird feeders. Thank you!

[were-gopher.livejournal.com]

(Looks out window) I knew I forgot to do something yesterday.

[noirrosaleen.livejournal.com]

I love this view. Fierce little warrior!

[ffutures.livejournal.com]

Lovely story - sounds about right for robins, they're incredibly brave and aggressive.

[londonbard.livejournal.com]

The local robin is just like him - and that reminds me, I must go and space out the bird feeders.

[jaxomsride.livejournal.com]

We don't get magpies so often, it's usually starlings that come and bully the smaller birds away.
A lovely robin POV though! :¬D

[marlex.livejournal.com]

That was lovely. Thank you!

[drhoz.livejournal.com]

being Australian, I have to ask - what is the other bird?

[porcinea.livejournal.com]

Around here, it's a crow. Not sure if it's the same, though.

[drhoz.livejournal.com]

but it's got a white back in the story?

[drhoz.livejournal.com]

I thought European magpies were small birds? totally unlike the Australian corvids?

[jimella.livejournal.com]

I don't know anything about Australian corvids, but a magpie is 44-48 cm long, including the very long tail, compared with the robin's 14 cm. If the robin came too close the magpie would eat it. Brilliant story though.

[janewilliams20.livejournal.com]

I was trying to work that out myself, and I'm British and a bit of a bird-watcher. "black-headed, white-backed shape with the axe-like beak" - it's cawing and generally acting like a member of the crow family, but it has a white back. That would fit a magpie (sort of crow family but not quite), but they don't caw. Baffled.
http://www.rspb.org.uk/wildlife/birdguide/families/crows.aspx
http://www.rspb.org.uk/wildlife/birdguide/name/m/magpie/

[evil-little-dog.livejournal.com]

This is wonderful!

[sp23.livejournal.com]

Loved this. Fierce little guy!

[caiteydid.livejournal.com]

I do love those little robins. I wish we had something like them here in the States. Of all the birds I saw in England, I think robins, for all that they're common and loud at 3AM because that streetlight is confusing in robin world, were my favorite. It's hard to pick a favorite, though. :P I do love their personalities. And this is fantastic! You go on saving the world, little robin.

I'm going to go fill the birdfeeders now! Because while we don't have fearless little robins, we have cousins of my other favorite- Long-Tailed Tits. And they're HUNGRY!

[honorh.livejournal.com]

Fierce little fellow! Descended from dinosaurs, you know. What a holiday treat--a new story from one of my favorite authors.

[carmy-w.livejournal.com]

Wonderful! Thanks for the present, and Happy Solstice to you too!

[deire.livejournal.com]

Thank you for all of the wonderful stories.

Holiday cards here:
http://th03.deviantart.net/fs70/150/i/2011/358/2/1/merry_christmas_by_deireh-d4k34lg.jpg

http://deireh.deviantart.com/art/Happy-Solstice-275602827?q=gallery%3Adeireh&qo=1

[kayshapero]

Applause!! You tell 'em, little bird. :) (as I fish through my icons for one that doesn't have a cat on it which is harder than it sounds...)