The landscape was clear, stripped, and the only remote sign of life was the jet black crow in a lone, crumbling tree. It’s call resounded loudly in the empty expanse, seeming to echo the lifeless soul of this place.
It raised its wings above it, ready to take off and leave this desolate place. There was nothing here to live off, no reason to stay, just idly flapping its wings for a moment. It looked out of the landscape, trying to get its bearings. It didn’t want to waste its energy on a fruitless journey.
Finally finding a route, it took off to the north.
It’s been awhile since I did Friday Fictioneers. Glad to be back.