Free Lupus Rex by John Carter Cash

not miss a bite that was available. The winter months were hard, and they needed to fatten up in preparation. Young Ada was contentedly busy with his eating. He did not notice that around him all had grown quiet, nor did he see the reason for their silence. It was Banka’s presence that had silenced the group.
    Ada was bashed upon the head and knocked to the ground. He tumbled in pain. “You are all to leave the field now!” commanded Banka. When he had approached, Ada’s father evidently had been too far away to notice the intrusion of the crow. The rest had watched in fearful silence as the much larger crow had approached the unknowing Ada.
    “Why did you do that?” Ada had cried.
    “You quail are always sneaky!” young Banka had called. “You think this field is yours, but you’re wrong! This is the crows’ field! And we answer to no one!”
    “Ada is my son,” Cotur Vanda had said, moving in swiftly beside the wounded chick. “He is too young for your thrashing. Take this up with me instead.” The brave quail had stepped straight up and faced Banka, their beaks nearly touching.
    Sadly, Banka had taken it up with Vanda. He flogged Ada’s father with his wings and screamed malicious caws until the blood turned Vanda’s gray feathers to a dusty red.
    Looking back through the seasons, Cotur Ada knew that his father had never really recovered from that beating. The young and angry crow had broken two of Vanda’s toes and they had healed badly. One day Vanda had been gathering blueberries with two of Ada’s brothers. An old and desperately hungry fox had attacked. Vanda had flushed up with the younger quail but had taken off badly. The fox took him down, its eyes gone a dull gray with age and the lust for blood. Cotur Ada always wondered if his father had been just a little slower because of his broken toes.
    He was careful not to fly too high, hoping not to be seen by the other crows, whose desperate fray was only beginning to abate. He had an idea, and though it was a dire measure, certainly for him and perhaps for all, he felt it the only chance to save the chicks. It was a measure that would work only if Banka proved to be the fool he thought him to be. He flew in and landed close to Banka and the quail, who were locked in a sort of one-sided tussle, with the large crow holding down the chick while the elder tried her best to get him off. “Stand down, Grandmother!” Cotur Ada cried when he landed.
    Banka stared back in surprise, as did Incanta. She fell back from the crow, exhausted and bleeding from the beak, the injury likely from her own efforts. There was no sign the crow had attacked her, nor for that matter was there a mark on his black body either.
    “Ah!” roared Banka. “So there are to be four to die! How many more quail are hidden in the brush? This is an insult from quail to the order of crows! Your blood will be shared by many today!”
    “You have found a treasure here, O wise crow,” said Cotur Ada, “and you don’t even know it yet. Our placement here may be an offense to the crows, but on consideration you may find a benefit. You may suffer a boon for your own rite. You have the mother of many and the grandmother of innumerable at your hand. And I will speak for her. She will make you an offer.” Incanta glared at Cotur Ada. Uncertainty was upon her face, but she said nothing. She lay prone, the rage still dancing in her eyes.
    “What nonsense is this you are speaking, little bird?” Banka questioned.
    “Ah, it is not nonsense in the least. You must know that to a quail the life of the chick is much more valuable than the life of the egg—the delicious egg.” Cotur Ada said this last thing with a raised emphasis. “Between myself and the grandmother here, we know the whereabouts of at least two dozen hidden nests. These are secrets kept from the mink, the muskrats, the rats, and, of course, the crows.”
    A light of interest appeared in Banka’s eye. “What would you