#unbirdlike

[cephalore]

[dykeboi]

A little game of translation telephone. Original English edition, published French edition, my own English translation which I made without seeing the original. Birds of the World by Oliver Luther Austin.

English: The visitor to New Zealand who sees Kiwis in their native haunts today is fortunate. This is not because they are rare, but because they are so shy and retiring. They live in thick, swampy forests where they spend their days hidden in burrows or under spreading tree roots, and come out to forage only at night. But with luck, and in the "proper bush", as the New Zealanders call what little is left of the primeval kauri and tree fern forests, one may still here the shrill piping calls that long ago led the native Maoris to call them kiwis.

Roly-poly birds about the size of a large chicken, the Kiwis are the smallest of the primitive flightless birds. They differ from the other four families of living Ratites (birds with no keel on the breastbone) in so many anatomical features that their position in the avian family tree, other than close to its base, is uncertain. Their closest relatives seem to be the extinct Moas that shared New Zealand with them until about 700 years ago.

The three living species of Kiwis (two more are known from Pleistocene fossil deposits) are the only representatives of their family and order. They have dwindled in numbers over the past century. Part of their decline is attributable to the clearing of the New Zealand forests for agriculture, part to the introduction of stoats, weasels, opossums, dogs, and cats. Though early settlers hunted them for food, the Kiwis have since earned a warm place in the hearts of the New Zealanders and are now rigidly protected.

In appearance Kiwis are strangely unbirdlike, and seem to be all body, bill, and feet. Their short, stout legs are spaced so far apart that they run with an awkward rolling gait, like an ungainly mechanical toy. Their long, coarse plumage com- pletely hides their rudimentary 2-inch wings. They have neither wing nor tail plumes. Their contour feathers, whose lack of interlocking barbules gives them their hairlike effect, grow thickly all over the body except for a hidden bare patch on each side just under the ridiculous wings. Into this patch the kiwi tucks its head and bill when sleeping.

Kiwis are the only birds whose nostrils open at the very tip of the bill. They have a keen sense of smell, which most other birds lack, and apparently find the grubs and worms they eat mostly by odor. Their rather poor eyesight is com pensated for in part by long, hairy bristles at the base of their 6-inch bill. These are believed to have a tactile function.

Kiwis nest in underground burrows and, as in most ratites, the male does all the incubating. The chalky white eggs are enormous, about 5 inches long. They weigh almost a pound, practically one fourth of the female's body weight. The clutch is one, rarely two, eggs, which takes 75 to 80 days to hatch.

Probably no bird or animal on earth has become more symbolic of its homeland than the kiwi. The chief motif on the Dominion seal, it also appears on New Zealand coins and postage stamps. It is used as a trademark for textiles, shoe polish, flour, and a score of other New Zealand products. New Zealand overseas troops proudly call themselves Kiwis. Such sentiment is the kiwi's best insurance for surviving the drastic changes still being made in its environment.

Français: Il faut beaucoup de chance pour apercevoir des Kiwis sauvages dans leur milieu naturel. Non que les Kiwis soient rares, mais ils sont craintifs et se cachent. Ils vivent dans les forêts épaisses et marécageuses où ils passent la journée, dissimulés dans des terriers ou sous les racines rampantes des atbores, et ils ne sortent que la muit pour se nourrir. Mais il arrive d'entendre dans le "véritable fourré" ainsi les Néo Zélandais nomment-ils ce qui subsiste de la forêt primaire à kauris et à fougères arborescentes leus appel augu et flüté qui les fit appeler "Kiwis" par les Maoris.

Oiseaux rondelets, à peu près de la taille d'un gros poulet, les Kiwis sont les plus petits des Oiseaux primitifs inaptes an vol. lis différent des quatre autres familles actuelles de Ratites, Oiseaux dont le sternum est dépourvu de bréchet, par un si grand nombre de caractères anatomiques que dans l'arbre généalogique avien leur place serait située à la base. Leurs plus proches parents semblent être les Moas qui occupaient avec eux la Nouvelle-Zélande jusqu'au XV siècle environ.

Les 3 espèces actuelles de Kiwis (2 autres ont été retrouvées dans les dépôts fossiles du pléistocène) sont les seuls repré sentants de leur famille (Aptérygidés) et de leur ordre (Apté rygiformes). Leur nombre a diminué au cours du siècle der nier. Cette taréfaction est due en partie au défrichement des forêts de la Nouvelle-Zélande au bénéfice des cultures, en partie à l'introduction d'Hermines, de Belettes, d'Opossums, de Chiers et de Chats. Les premiers colons chassaient les Kiwis pour les manger mais, de nos jours, ces Oiseaux occupent dans le coeur des Néo-Zélandais une place privilégiée et sont l'objet d'une protection sévère.

A première vue, les Kiwis ont à peine l'air d'Oiseaux. Le bec et les pattes semblent plantés dans le corps et celles-ci, courtes et robustes, sont tellement écartées qu'ils tanguent en courant à la manière d'un jouet mécanique. Leur plumage long et grossier cache totalement leurs ailes radimentaires longues de 5 cm. Leurs ailes et leur queue sont dépourvues de plumes et le plumage dont ils sont couverts a l'aspect de poils en raison de l'absence de barbules entrecroisées, il est dense sur tout le corps à l'exception d'une plage dénudée de chaque côté, sous les moignons d'ailes. C'est là que le Kiwi rentre la tête et le bec lorsqu'il dort. Les Kiwis sont les seuls Oiseaux dont les narines s'ouvrent à l'extrémité du bec qui mesure 15 cm. Ils ont. Fodorat fin, contrairement à la plupart des Oiseaux, ce qui leur permet de découvrir les larves et les vers dont ils s'alimentent. Leur vue, assez faible, est compensée en partie par de longs poils raides qui exerceraient un rôle sensoriel et sont situés à la base de leur bec. Le nid du Kiwi est un terrier et, comme chez la plupart des Ratites, c'est le mâle qui couve. Les oeufs blancs, à sur face crayeuse, sont énormes (près de 15 cm). Ils pèsent envi ron une livre, soit un quart du poids de la femelle. La ponte se limite à un, rarement deux œufs, qui éclosent au bout de soixante-quinze à quatre-vingts jours.

Aucun Oiseau ou animal sur terre n'est davantage considéré comme le symbole de son pays que ne l'est le Kiwi. Celui-ci figure comme principal motif sur les armes de la Nouvelle- Zélande, il apparaît également sur sa monnaie et ses timbres poste. On l'utilise comme marque de fabrique pour des tex tiles, du cirage, de la farine et tout un lot d'autres produits néo-zélandais. Les troupes militaires néo-zélandaises séjournant à l'étranger sont fières de se faire appeler "Kiwis". Ces dispositions sentimentales à l'égard du Kiwi sont la meilleure garantie de sa survie, en dépit des bouleversements qui affectent toujours davantage son milieu naturel.

My translation: It takes great luck to see wild Kiwis in their natural habitat. Not because Kiwis are rare, but that they're shy and hide themselves. They live in thick, swampy forests where they spend the day concealed in burrows or under the creeping roots of trees, and only come out at night to feed. But sometimes you hear it in the "real bush" - as the New Zealanders call it, where it subsists in primary forest of kauri and tree ferns- their high and fluty call which made the Maori call them "Kiwi".

Plump birds, close in size to a large chicken, Kiwis are the smallest of primitive flightless birds. They differ from the four other extant families of Ratites, birds which lack a wishbone in the sternum, by such a great number of anatomical characteristics that in the avian evolutionary tree, their place would be at the bottom. Their closest ancestors seem to be the Moas which lived alongside them in New Zealand until around the 15th century.

The three extant species of Kiwis (two others have been discovered in Pleistocene fossil deposits) are the only representatives of their family (Apterygides) and of their order (Apterygiformes). Their number has decreased over the course of the last century. This rarefaction is due in part to the clearing of New Zealand forests for the benefit of crops, and in part due to the introduction of ermines, weasels, opossums, dogs, and cats. The first colonists hunted Kiwi to for food, but in our day, these birds hold a privileged place in the hearts of New Zealanders and are the subject of strict protection.

At first glance, Kiwis barely look like birds. The beak and the feet seem planted in the body, and the latter, short and robust, are so spread that they sway in running like a mechanical toy. Their long and rough plumage totally hides their rudimentary wings of 5 cm. Their wings and tail are featherless and the plumage that covers them has the appearance of fur because it lacks crisscrossed barbules; it is dense over all of the body with the exception of a bare patch on each side, under the stumps of the wings. This is where the Kiwi tucks its head and beak when it sleeps.

Kiwis are the only birds which have nostrils which open at the end of the beak, which measures 15cm. They have a fine sense of smell, contrary to the majority of birds, which allows them to discover the larvae and worms they feed on. Their vision, rather weak, is compensated somewhat by long straight hairs which okay a sensory role, and are located at the base of their beak.

The nest of the Kiwi is a burrow which, like the homes of the majority of Ratites, is covered by the male. The white eggs with a chalky surface are enormous (close to 13cm). They weigh around a pound, almost a quarter of the weight of the female. The clutch is thus limited to one, rarely to two eggs, which hatch after 75-80 days.

No bird or animal on the earth is considered more of a symbol of its country than the Kiwi. It's featured as the principle motif in the arms of New Zealand, and appears as well on its money and postage stamps. It's used as a brand logo for textiles, shoe polish, flour, and a whole lot of other products of New Zealand. New Zealand troops abroad are proud to call themselves "Kiwis".

[vintageviewmaster]

Caption: YELLOW-BILLED CUCKOO

Booklet Description: 6. YELLOW-BILLED CUCKOO It is the cry of the Old World Cuckoo that is heard from the Cuckoo Clock. The American bird usually gives out a few guttural, unmusical, almost unbirdlike "chucks" and "clucks." The belief among some farmers that this call forecasts rain gives it another name, the Rain Crow. The slim, brown and white Cuckoo, common in eastern North America, is seldom seen, and then only winging its way in a straight line from one bit of cover to another. Visible or not, the Cuckoo is a friend to man. It is one of the few birds that will eat the hairy caterpillar, and its great favorite is the tent caterpillar which it destroys in great numbers.

Brand: View-Master Packet Title: Wild Birds of North America Reel Title: Wild Birds of North America Reel Subtitle: In Natural Habitat - I Reel Number: 895-A Reel Edition: N/A Image Number: 6 Date: 1955

[graywyvern]

( me / via )

Because of Duties.

"unbirdlike bird picture"

corduroy loiterer a light for Whispercord December gales corrode

rode a pale harpsichord

Rippling crescents.

"THE CHRYSALIS (Anagrammed Lines)

A shy echo splinters those shiny parcels. The chrysalis opens physical otherness."

--@Anthony_Etherin

Arctic Hare in Cairngorms.

a piece of the Cavern talisman & hierodule bombshells in the cabbage patch

golden leaves against gray sky my poems know before i do

Pilgrims.

[albertonykus]

I love it when “unbirdlike” birds do “birdlike” things. Penguins stretching their wings, owls crouching horizontally to sit on their nests, etc. Birds that don’t look like typical birds performing mannerisms associated with typical looking birds. There’s just something nice about it.

It’s always fun to see aberrant members of a clade do something that makes you think, “Aha, they do belong to that group!”

[boyduroy]

I was looking at reference pictures of birds and I didn't know they sunbathed but look

They look like they got caught doing something unbirdlike

So undignified don't look at me

Amazing

[m3-mianbo]

This or that? (Fan meme...)

While reading Dylan Bajda’s Serina project, one of the many things I’ve liked is the quirky names that the species are given. Especially pun ones. I love puns.

There are also creatures that are named after or in parallel with life present on Earth. So I thought it’d be fun to make a list of some of the Serinans and whether I prefer each to its ‘Earth counterpart’. (For example Dolphins vs Dolfinches).

Antlears or Antlers?

Antlears, of course.

Bora (weird looking bird descendant) or Bora (wind)?

I’m choosing the bora from Serina.

Bloon (Oceanic bird) or Bloon (In-development zero emission air/space craft)?

The bird, I think

Changeling (Serina) or Changeling (MLP)?

I think I will choose the highly diverse clade from Serina (although the Changelings from MLP would all be able to take a Serinan’s form, theoretically)

Chimera Tree or Chimaera (mythology)?

I think I would just have to choose the one from mythology on Earth (although it’s not a very easy choice).

Split-wristed Chiseler or Chiseler (A swindler)?

The Serinan critter.

Clonger (Tribtile) or Clonger (Stop-motion characters)?

The tribtile in question is my favourite.

Dolfinch or Dolphin?

Dolphin

Dougal (Bird) or Dougal (Magic Roundabout character)?

Dougal the dog

Eft (Changeling) or Eft (young newt)?

The changeling bird

Gibbet (Handfish) or Gibbet (place of execution)?

The Gibbet handfish is amazing.

Glove (Bird) or Glove (fabric worn on the hand)?

The glove of Serina, although I admit IRL gloves are useful.

Nest Goblin or Goblin (mythology)?

The nest goblins, though creepy, have a better backstory I guess. And do not have history of being used as a racial stereotype.

Grappler (Ferocious bird) or Grappler (Wrestler)?

The ferocious bird.

Gravedigger (Serina) or Gravedigger (occupation)?

Gravedigger, the remarkable Serinan sophont

Hopper (Tribbet) or Hopper (insect)?

I think I prefer the first option

Jackal Carnackle or Jackal?

Jackal Carnackle

Jays (Serina) or Jays (Earth)?

It’s a tough one. Can I say both? If not, I would lean towards Earth Jays (‘real Jays’).

Btw, I love how Dylan Bajda blatantly re-invented corvids because he likes them so much. I admire that, I guess. (I like corvids too).

Lank (Bird with a carnivorous diet) or Lank (place in Cornwall)?

Lank, the bird.

Mitten (Bird) or Mitten (Fabric worn on the hand)?

Mitten from Serina (though honourable mention to Mittens, nickname of a character on my favourite cartoon).

Mosset (Ornkey) or Ornkey (place in France)?

Mosset (Ornkey)?

Muck (Clade of unbirdlike birds) or Muck (soil etc)?

Mucks from Serina are definitely more interesting.

Neckbeard (Serinan bird) or Neckbeard (so-called ‘facial hairstyle’)?

The neckbeards of Serina  ...

Noot (The Kissing Anteater-bird) or Noot (the noise from Pingu)?

Noot, the sweet birdie.

Poppit (Molodont) or Poppit (place)?

I suppose I would go for the molodont.

Skyke (early predators on Serina) or Skike (sports device)?

I guess I will choose the bird.

Snark (snail descendant) or Snark (in reference to the nonsense poem)?

I suppose I choose Snark from the world of poetry. I’m not very fond of snails.

Snoot (Bird) or Snoot (tool in photography)?

Snoot the bird, 100%

Trunko (relative of the snoot) or Trunko (Cryptid thing)?

I find it quite easy to choose the lovable mammoth trunkos and their relatives, but the intriguing ‘conspiracy’ of the other trunko is also quite interesting.

Worm-on-a-string (Fish) or Worm on a string (meme)?

Ah well the Serinan fish is interesting, but I choose the meme. This time.

[tigwex]

I had a very cute dream :( I had a dream I was playing an open world game that was about being a little bird person and you're on this big high mountain and you can't fly but you have a little sword and the game's tagline was like. experience the life of a bird in the most unbirdlike way possible....... and I recall currency being dragonflies and having a little armour set and u had to navigate down the terrain and explore like in zeld.......... absolute fucking dream game I wish this was real

[zaritarazi]

the weird thing about that pic of fetus phil is how unbirdlike it is - which implies that as Phil Klemmer ages, he is slowly turning into Bird.

Oddly i feel like the same thing is currently happening to me

[knoughtwright]

Tatterdemalion Ch. 5: Amaranth

Table of Contents

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My closest friend within Anpiel, with the possible exception of my mother, was a girl named Amaranth about a year older than me.

From a very early age, Amaranth had a gift for understanding and making use of the old bits of machinery that covered the landscape. Before she was even allowed to venture beyond Anpiel’s wheel, she played with the scraps others had foraged, pieces that failed to meet Anpiel’s specifications but still had enough functionality left in them to work with. She made little toys, sometimes as gifts for the other children but usually just for herself. At first they just beeped and whirred and spun, but then they made music, and then they moved around, and then she had an entourage of little automata that rolled and scuttled after her wherever she went.

She gave names to the little things that followed her, spoke to them, and told us when they were happy or sad and when they wanted things. She had never done anything to give them the ability to interpret what she said or to have emotions or desires, and she knew that nothing of the sort was within their mechanical capabilities. But their personalities were nevertheless intensely real to her, through a sort of anthropomorphism perhaps like that which a young child applies to a doll, though she maintained it into adulthood. It seemed a harmless enough eccentricity and it clearly brought her a great deal of happiness, so no one ever tried very hard to disabuse her.

She begged to be allowed out to forage herself, and was allowed to go out earlier than most children did, when she was around eleven. On her returns from those early trips she was ecstatic, babbling about the things she had seen and collected so fast I could barely make out all the words she was saying, let alone discern their meaning. She was accompanied by adults every time, but this was not enough to keep her safe. On her fourth excursion, they awoke some long-slumbering machine which was less broken than it appeared, and she had to be carried home bloody and mangled.

Anpiel was able to treat most of her injuries, but she had sustained damage to her spine which it could not repair, and she lost all movement and feeling in her legs. She was placed in a wheelchair, which she took to more easily and comfortably than anyone expected. The wheelchair she was given, created from specifications provided by Anpiel, was powered by hand, but after requesting some parts of her own from foraging parties she was soon able to build a motorized second chair. Over the next couple years she continued to alter and augment both chairs, eventually attaching to the motorized wheelchair four large spiderlike mechanical legs that could be extended to scramble over rough terrain, or retracted to allow it its original function as a wheelchair.

Once she had attached the legs she started using that chair to venture into the outside herself. The adults were terrified for her, but her enthusiasm was utterly undiminished by her experience. Once, her parents tried to stop her from sneaking out at night by keeping her far out of reach of either of her chairs. She was not, however, out of reach of a remote control she had made for one of her mechanical companions, which she used to drag the manual wheelchair to her bedside, then wheeled herself to the mechanical chair, transferred herself to that, and went out and sulked in the wilderness outside Anpiel for almost two days before returning. They didn’t try to restrict her movement after that. Anpiel, of course, could have stopped her from passing beyond its wheel, but she always brought back the best trinkets so it was not inclined to do so.

I should say, though, that she did not take most of those adventures alone. I usually joined her, and no one else ever did, so it was just the two of us out in the scrapheaps. The adults always tried to dissuade her, and none of the other children were willing to go out without an adult, but I said yes every time. The adults didn’t want me heading out either, and I knew it was stupidly dangerous, but it felt good to be valuable to someone. She made no secret of how happy she was to have an extra pair of hands and an audience for her to explain the mechanisms we sifted through and her theories and ideas for how they might be used. It felt good, too, to have something she shared only with me. I can’t know for sure, but I suspect that some of the ideas she shared with me were wholly original to her, thoughts which had never before been thought by anyone. Thoughts which existed in her mind, and mine, and no one else’s.

She was the girl expected to marry Sumac, and so when I injured him it came as a surprise that she was my closest supporter. She was the first person to ask me what had happened after Sumac told his side of the story, and though she was angry with me for sleeping with her informal betrothed, she was far angrier at him--partly on her own behalf, but especially, miraculously, on mine. She told him, very publicly, that I had let him off easy and that if he ever tried something like that with her she would cut his dick off.

She gave no indication that she didn’t intend to marry him, though. I wished sometimes that she would --for her sake or for mine, I wasn’t sure-- but I knew that wasn’t realistic. The community was so small, after all. What other choice did she have?

We continued to go foraging together, and she continued to add to her chairs and her automata. Her one ongoing source of frustration, the one problem she couldn’t solve, was the chair’s battery. She needed to charge her chair at Anpiel’s wall, somehow turning its thrumming heat and light into energy she could use, and she had no way to recharge it beyond that boundary. It wasn’t too much of an impediment as long as she stayed within Anpiel except for carefully planned single-day expeditions, but it meant that she could never hope to venture too far from the angel. Eventually Anpiel suggested a solution, and Amaranth and I went out into the wilderness to collect the rare and valuable piece of salvage that it required.

We went to the location Anpiel had given us, the ruins of a factory whose purpose I couldn’t begin to guess at. The ruins were nestled in a sinkhole, with a nearly vertical drop ten times my height at its boundary. Amaranth had no way to get her chair down into the hole and back out again, so she lowered me on a rope and I went into the factory alone.

It’s probably for the best that Amaranth wasn’t with me in the factory. She probably would have died, and there’s a good chance she would have taken all the rest of us with her. And even if by some miracle she had been unharmed, she would have learned things about me that I’m very glad she didn’t know.

It is difficult to describe what I experienced in that decrepit building. Reality itself was badly frayed there. Space seemed to bleed, and my memories of the place refuse to sort themselves into a linear chronology. I know that at some point I found what I had sent in there to retrieve: a pair of severed angel wings, still glowing with the dim embers of holy fire, feathered but otherwise entirely unbirdlike. They had far too many joints and the joints seemed almost mechanical, and although the wings were ten feet long outstretched they folded up small enough to be easily carried. They seemingly weighed nothing at all.

I know that at some point I came to the gash in the world and saw Chaos through it. It was terrifying, as wrong as anything I’d ever seen, but at the same time looking at it had a sweet floral taste that drew me in. I know somehow I got away.

I know that at some point I encountered the thing which had come through that hole and made the factory its home. I don’t think I saw it. I don’t think it was the sort of thing which could be seen. But I knew it was there, with as much certainty and intensity as I’ve ever known anything. And it saw me.

And it spoke to me. What it produced may or may not have been sounds but they certainly weren’t words but they were just as certainly speech. The best way I can describe it is like radio static, but this completely fails to do justice to the way it filled up my mind, pushing out all thought, the way it felt intensely like it meant something but just as intensely like it was nothing I could ever understand. Something inside me stirred and answered, in the same speech-that-wasn’t-words, and I threw up.

It let me go, I guess. I emerged from the factory shaking and disoriented but uninjured, carrying my prize. It was hours before I could speak, and even once I could, I refused to tell Amaranth or anyone else what had happened. The thing inside me could speak and apparently negotiate for my safe passage, which meant it had a will, and neither I nor anyone else knew what it wanted. I was afraid that if anyone found out I would be exiled.

Amaranth spent a few days experimenting with the wings before attaching them to her chair. Once they were functional, she excitedly came over to show me. They unfurled into huge canopy above her, catching the sunlight and turning it into something she could use, so that she’d be able to charge anywhere there was sun. She laughed, and in that moment, for the first time, I was unashamed of whatever it was that the unweaving of my first home had made me into. That which had allowed me to help make her laugh, to help make her free, could not possibly be anything other than beautiful.

[drunkdragondoes]

Qrowin prompt

@jaynefray

The prompt was mostly was, to put it in less words - Mage steals the bride/maiden away as a bird. Or at least that’s what I sort of went with in the end lol

---

Atlas weddings were more on the subdued side. The same couldn’t always be said for the afterparty, but in the moments leading up to the official joining, it was a quiet, somber moment. It was customary for it to be almost silent, for it was a private moment at the altar - unique for them alone.

Mistral weddings, on the other hand, were a bit louder. Whole villages were invited at times, so it was almost a festival instead of a ceremony. In the closing moments, though, one would be carried in a palanquin to the other’s household, where they would finally be wed as one.

So with all the noise and smacking of lips, the ruckus and alcohol, the human hands passing over the cart, it was supposed to be a sign of good luck if a bird landed on top of it. And the longer it stayed, the more blessings were said to be bestowed upon the couple.

Winter didn’t want to say she believed in all that. But at the same time, there had to be a reason why the procession came to a halt. The rocking and jostle came to a standstill, and much of the noise died down.

She supposed she should have been thankful. Anything to delay the fate given to her was a boon, no matter how short it might have been. Her fancy blue dress, beautiful and made of layers folded over layers, was stiff and tight, cinched at the waist. It might have been called a kimono, but the cloth trapped her, bound her to small steps.

Running in heels was one thing. This dress was another beast on its own.

But when she saw the veil part just a bit to allow a crow in, she knew why everything stopped and fell silent. Visiting birds were lucky, but a bird walking into the palanquin? Unheard of.

But Winter knew it wasn’t just a bird.

“You again.”

He didn’t respond at first, instead cocking his head left and right like a real bird. But as the veil grew still, fully shielding him from the onlookers, he finally spoke. “So is this really your choice? All dolled up and nowhere to go?”

She took a deep breath. “It’s never my choice. You know that by now.”

Caw. “So you still don’t want to be here,” he said, “and yet you’re not doing anything about it.”

Winter’s teeth ground against each other. She couldn’t just do as he could. Couldn’t leave, couldn’t fight, couldn’t make her own choice. Not like Qrow, and on a level she hated him for it. “I can’t leave. I told you already.”

He was still acting like a bird, but the way he cocked his head to stare at her was reason for caution. It was unnatural, unbirdlike, as if he knew far more than he let on, as always.

“And what if I told you that your sister is already free?”

---

The procession eventually continued. The people danced and sang and laid wreaths upon its pathway. Not only had a bird stayed, but it had gone to visit the bride! Surely it was a sign of luck, of fortune and good health, of joy and happiness.

But when the procession stopped and the veil was pulled back, inside was nothing save a pair of feathers, one black, one white.

---

A/N: Hope you enjoyed! I took some liberties and so while it’s not like the song you referenced, it is still pretty close.

And for those interested, here’s the original song:

[quothesquills]

Snorri had been circling wide loops around the sky, just catching air currents for an hour or two when a glint of something caught his eye. He swooped down for a better look, but it seemed to disappear, and he nearly flew straight into a pane of glass. He caught himself just in time, turning aside and grasping the nearest rail and nearly fell forwards on his beak as his bad foot struggled for purchase.

Four feet of sleek and glossy black wings flutter and flap, spreading out as wide and long as they could in an effort to intimidate whatever had snapped her out of her impromptu nap. Dragged in front of the window like a tattered shroud where the Sun shone down, the female raven given very unbirdlike dreams. Ones that involved hair red as fire and one eye greener than envy and acres of freckles. Sunspots.

She’s not sure what she’s angrier over...the fact that she’d been jostled out of that dream, or the fact that she’d had it all, or even possibly the source. But when she catches the sight of the creature responsible, she’s flooded by an immediate sense of ...charity. Not that altruism ever came naturally to her, but she’s been in this kid’s place. So up she rises from the nest made entirely by not her. Fumbles with the window’s latch until she can leverage it open and sticks her head outside.

Unsure if he’s corvid or homid born, she decides to try her luck with a set of beak clicks and warbling.

Oi. Kid. You okay?

[thenixkat]

Animorphs notes 3

Book 3

Narrated by Tobias. Getting all of the white kids out of the first I guess

Tobias forgets the color of his eyes after a few weeks as a bird. But he remembers that he had blond hair and was kinda big.

Tobi has also oly been looking at his bird face head on cause otherwise he’d notice how doofy his face looks

Dan’s not holding that hawk prisoner he’s just got shitty animal husbandry. If that 3 ft by 3 ft cage is the only cage he keeps her in. That could just be a travel cage dude uses for the filming for all the info I have and Tobi has already demonstrated that he over anthropomorphises animals

Also Tobi is gonna get that captive bird fucking killed with this Peta shit.

And he does something very unbirdlike infront of multiple people any of whom could be a controller.

And he nearly gets killed doing this.

Tobias is a dumbass that doesnt consider the consequences of shit.

Tobi she’s a fucking bird and there’s a fucking elephant destroying shit and humans causing a ruckus. She’s startled and startled birds fucking fly u numpty!

Rachel chews Tobias out for being a complete idiot and starting that stunt while on fucking air

Ya know what, Tobi’s descriptions of Rachel are starting to make me uncomfortable. And that plus his insistence of talking to Rachel on her solo mission every 5 secs probably means he has some creepy crush on her

Tobi don’t start on that shit you chose to be in morph far more than was safe, was warned multiple times of the time limit and got yerself stuck. Its not a curse if yer fucking responsible.

Applegate skips on the whole redtails also hunt smaller birds and that’s… weird

Tobi assumes that a human smiling when they see a bird means their jealous. Not that like, the person just fucking likes birds and nature and shit and is either going to or going home from a job where they spent hours in a bland cubicle looking at just a computer so hey a cool bird, they must be jelly that they cant fly.

I don’t like Tobias.

Why do the yeerk ships have clocking that hides them in ultraviolet as well when humans can’t see into that range? Wouldn’t it make sense just to cloak along the visible spectrum and save power and also cleaning bills from hitting so many birds and bugs?

Marco is valid.

Also betting that that released hawk is gonna be ded in the next few days.

Also why did Jake not get any info from Cassie on potentially what to feed Tobias? Why isn’t Tobias just fucking living at Cassie’s barn? She could claim that he’s some tame hawk that someone gave to her b/c they couldn’t afford to take care of him any more

Tobias why didn’t you bring up the thing in the sky to the whole group?

Is this brooding angst?

Also if Tobias has been eating random leftovers from Jake for weeks he should be sick as fuck.

Why didn’t anyone call Child Protective Services for Tobias’ case too?

Dead geese

Wolves were recently released in the nearby national parkl/woods

There are mountains nearby, and a coast near by, an abandoned church, a mall next to a construction site

Has Marco been in the mountains before?

Marco, yall only tried to rescue Tom once. That’s not everything you could do. Yall could just fucking kidnap him and fake his death and also tell Jake’s parents so they don’t do anything… rash

Tobias is kinda taking charge of this mission

Tobias doesnt like Marco

Its 20 miles from Cassie’s barn to the mountains

Cassie apparently dosent consider that female wolves might also fight for dominance

None of these kids practiced this morph beforehand even tho they know morphing something for the first time usually leads to some loss of control

Cassie can morph horse. There’s horses plural at her barn. They could have all become horses in the woods to travel the 20 miles then turned into more normal forest animals to blend in once they got there.

Every Time they morph my comparative anatomy classes start fucking screaming in anguish. The knees reversing is not nearly as bad as fingers shriveling and disappearing b/c somebody doesnt know fucking digitigrade limb anatomy

Morphing took Cassie 2 mins

Tobais is a hawkaboo

Alpha. Ick

Jake can’t control his morph and is triggering wolf shit in the others

They really should just fucking demorph and remorph.

Tobias gets frustrated and flies off to clear his head

Too fucking bad we dont get a first person view of turning into a wolf b/c Tobias got himself stuck as his fursona and had to narrate this book

Fake park rangers

No, I’m not going to believe that hork-bajir have T. rex feet b/c these kids know jack and shit about every kinda animal. Also zygodactyl feet make more sense for a tree climber, and would look lovely while kangaroo hopping

Tobias only notes blades on their heads, wrists, elbows and knees.

Tobi mistakes a random group of 5 wolves for his friends

These dumbasses dont demorph and remorph b/c they want to be wolves for the rest of their life

Taxxons are consistently described as fat centipedes

Tobias finds out his hawk body is horny for a lady bird

More misinformation on how wolf packs work

Idiots don’t display submissive behavior and back away to avoid a conflict. Or just flat out fucking run away.

SO the gang are able to demorph at least 7 mins past the two hours time limit. Cassie was in morph the longest yet is the first to finish and then helps the other morph with her coaching skills. Interesting.

SO how long can they really stay in morph? It takes Cassie 2mins to morph, they were at least 7 mins past the window. Cassie spent 69 mins in morph more or less, could she go longer?

Did lying to them about how much time they had left help? How much of morphing is psychological?

Owls can and would eat hawks. Tobias should be concerned about that.

Marco comes up with the idea to drive the alien tanker uncloaked over the city to alert the citizens

Jakes plan is to enter the ship through the pipes as fish. Why would there be a way to get into the rest of the ship from the water tank?

Rachel’s gymnastics group is doing a show in the mall

It bothers me that the kids and books don’t call Iness 226 by their name. B/c conflating the yeerk with their host is… not a good mentality to have

...birds can walk. Does Tobias think the only way birds can move is by flying? He can fucking run, it’d be a cute little flapping waddle but he can fucking run

Tobias loses control kills a rat, has a freak out and tries to commit suicide in front of Rachel. Is thwarted by Marco

Tobias goes feral to avoid his emotions

Tobias goes to see if the female hawk is still alive/maybe a booty call

Ya know I wanna know whats going on with the other animorphs while Tobias is having this crisis

It took Tobias a surprisingly long time to get past his shit and give a damn that a person was about to be brutally murdered in front of him

… how does Tobi’s eye attack work on the hork-controllers? AT what angle is he going to avoid the foot long horns and still hit the eyes?

You can totally hug a damn bird Applegate. People hug birds all the damn time.

Why don’t the two people with osprey morphs? Catch fish? Hell they could work together driving the fish into a net if they’d thought to bring a net.

These kids are so dumb. Marco? Cassie? Morph fucking ospery and see where the fish are!

Toboas gets distracted by the sexy lady hawk durring an important part of the mission

Andalite description: eyes on antler-like stalks, large main eyes, dainty hooves

Why is Visser 3 here now?

Plan gets 500% more dangerous and Jake and Rachel still push for it

Cassie sides with doing the plan over fucking waiting till security cools off and trying again when there’s less chance of death

The hork-controllers shoot a deer but not a bird going out over the lake multiple times

Hork-controller talking shit to a human-controller

Why is there a grate at the top of the water tank that leads in to the rest of the ship?

Tobias genuinely seems to think that there are voluntary hork-controllers given this and his comment in the first book’

Also I don’t like how Tobi keeps refering to non-human people as creatures. This shit probably happened in the other books but fuck it I’m noting it now

Heh. The kids can’t open the grate to escape and are plotting group suicide to avoid capture and infestation.

Its almost like trying to infiltrate a spaceship/tanker through the water take was a very very bad idea.

Tho is they had like mosquito morphs it might have worked

Taxxons can apparently climb like small bugs do.

Tobi steals a gun to kill the ship with

Tobi kills a ship with a gun

Random chance saves the animorphs again and Tobi is the only one to notice the humans falling out of the ship

…. Marco has an osprey morph not bald eagle.

Also! Bald eagles are fish eaters! Why didn’t Rachel morph to make fishing a little easier

Tobi sees the sexy lady hawk die

[atalana]

official ranking of every bird emoji

apple bird:

just a head. where is the rest of the birb. as usual with apple, too many gradients. looks kinda like a science diagram. still, fairly cute. 4/10

google bird:

simple design. flat colours. nice blue. adorable. a masterpiece. 10/10

microsoft bird:

a strong bird. a powerful bird. a bird you can trust. also discord just started using this emoji in the role titles and it’s weirding me out. 7/10

samsung bird:

round. friendly. a bit of an awkward design though. still, all in all a solid birb. 6/10

LG bird:

ngl kinda looks like it’s advertising something. but maybe something i would buy. 5/10

HTC bird:

its eyes are dark and soulless. its smile, unbirdlike. what has this bird seen. what does this bird know. 2/10

facebook bird:

a classic of our time. the grandmother of all bird emojis. 8/10

messenger bird:

its head is turned towards you. this is an inquisitive bird. a daring bird. a bird of science. also, it’s a nice red. 9/10

twitter bird:

honestly from a company who’s entire marketing system is based around birds, they could do better. this one is taking flight though, so i give points for initiative. 4.5/10

mozilla bird:

spaced out. lack of colour. but a simple design that’s not too clunky. 3.5/10

emoji one bird:

nice design, nice colours. a bird of excitement. 7.5/10

emojidex bird:

this bird is too bird to really be called an emoji. looks exactly like a science diagram. but all birbs are good birbs. 3/10

[necromantic13]

A Cacophony of Souls

An accidental writing prompt: “a story about swamp witches with metal arms who use birds of prey to collect souls to overthrow a malevolent robot overlord.” It got weird. Then it got kinda good? Anyway, here we go.

The eagle soared over the landscape, searching out its prey with a keenness born of evolution and an intelligence that had not come naturally to that form. A mind of shrewd cruelty lived behind its piercing yellow eyes. A mind that was not its own.

The rolling hills it flew over were lush and green, newly budding crops dotting the landscape in a rainbow of colors clustered together, appearing more like an artist’s painting than food for the starving people below. The land was thriving, but its people were not. It was a reality easily overlooked if one had enough means to blind them to it.

The eagle’s ears, far stronger than its natural kin, picked up the sound of a horse neighing in the distance, followed by the rickety creaking of a cart being pulled over a rocky path. It let the air from its wings, dropping a thousand feet in an instant and lowering itself still farther until the sound matched up with the sight it expected to find: a young man, long brown hair to frame his soft eyes, leading a horse-drawn cart filled with vegetables from the day’s harvest.

Silently, the eagle alighted on the cart itself, talons gripping the dark wood. It watched the bushels of carrots bounce with the rhythm of the cart’s momentum, held together with thin twine and stuffed into burlap sacks for transport.

The eagle shifted and trilled loudly.

The young man stopped, startled by the proximity of a sound usually only heard from a distance.

“What are you doing here, fella?” he asked, no concern edging the young lines of his face. He was on the cusp of manhood, old enough to take the family goods to market, but not yet weighed with the responsibility of adulthood. The lack of anguish in his eyes spoke that much.

“You won’t find any fish here,” he said. “Only carrots and beets.”

The eagle tilted its head and called again, but this time its voice sounded less like a bird of prey and more like the sound of a hungry cat.

The young man’s smile fell faster than a stone in water. “A souleater,” he whispered, fear taking its rightful place where curiosity had been a moment before.

The eagle spread its wings and attacked.

With a strength born of another’s rage and determination, the bird lunged for the young man, knocking him to the ground with so small amount of effort. The boy fought back valiantly, fists flailing with a strength the eagle had not expected, hitting it in the face and wings enough to vex, if not stop it.

Talons gripping flesh, the eagle walked the body of the young man, slapping away his fists with its wings until the wicked hooks on its feet reached the boy’s throat.

The young man stopped fighting; the cold touch of the bird’s claws against his carotid artery quelled the fight in him in an instant.

“Have mercy,” he whispered.

The eagle blinked.

In a vicious flurry of beak and claw, the bird gouged the eyes from the boy’s skull, piercing the viscous orbs and severing the the ocular nerve on its way to the young man’s brain. It could feel the warm vibration of the boy’s soul, tucked within his body, held back only by the force of life and the resistance of his physical form. Once the former was extinguished, plucking it free was as simple as twisting an apple from the tree that bore it.

The eagle twisted; the soul broke free.

It tore its beak from the boy’s skull, screaming in a very unbirdlike fashion as blood streaked down its golden face and neck. Rivulets of red raced from the slashes in the young man’s throat, and he lay still, dead in body, his soul trapped within the abomination that straddled his chest.

The eagle heaved, breathing hard, and looked down at the mutilated face of its prey. It felt the memories of the boy’s life fly through its mind - memories of family, friends, and lovers, as well as trade routes, connections, and links in a chain of lives to be pieced together one kill at a time. The boy himself may not have been the lynchpin, but he would lead to it. Eventually.

The eagle raised its wings and left the body to the flies.

 The eagle floated on the thermals wafting up from the earth, drowsy from its battle and struggling to maintain clarity. The new soul within warred for control of the body, but it was an old battle it was accustomed to fighting. It flapped twice, carrying itself closer to where it had begun.

A woman stood at the edge of the cliff. Long, unkempt black hair fell down her back, held in place with little more than woven thorns and sticks still clinging to the moss of their birthplace. She wore a dark robe loosely against her bare skin and no shoes on her feet. The waning light of the day danced across her face, eyes closed against the brightness of the dying sun as she raised her palms up to greet it.

Come, she said, and a voice spoke inside the eagle’s mind.

Home.

The eagle dipped its wings and soared down to the woman, flapping mightily to slow its descent as it came within talon’s reach of her. Elishya held out her arm, metal and sinew gauntlet gleaming, bright and inviting, calling to it with the promise of rest. As the eagle’s blood-soaked talons grasped the woman’s outstretched arm, she felt the soul flow into her like a sharp intake of breath. It joined the others, elbowing its way between the cagey wolf and the simple milkmaid, making space between the dozens of stolen lives that lived within her.

Somewhere within the cacophony of souls, the bird itself screamed for death.

“You’ll be consumed, sister,” a man beside her said, comfortable in the thick folds of his cloak, lurking in the shadows of the forest. “You’ve too many voices clamoring to be heard.”

“Perhaps,” she said, stroking the eagle’s head. It looked at her with exhaustion, lids heavy from the hunt, and she let it fly with the spirit of an old warrior looking only for rest after combat. “But not before I succeed where our kind have failed for so long.”

“And what is that, exactly?” he asked, his voice attempting incredulity but achieving only weak resolve tinged with fear.

She looked at him through the eyes of a wildcat and a murdered child at once. “I will bring the Steel Monarch to his knees.”