The sun had just dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange, when Phil prepared a room for the kid he was adopting and took a deep breath. Adopting another avian was not something he had planned on doing, especially at his age. At forty-six, he called himself old, but in truth, he kind of needed someone to fill the house with. And crows weren't an option, he told himself.

"Man, I hope I do right by this kid," Phil mutters to himself.

As he worked, he couldn't help but wonder about the child's background. Was their previous home filled with love and care, or had they been neglected and abused? He hoped it was the former, but he knew better than most, that life could be cruel and unforgiving.

As he finished the room, he hoped it was good enough. A small desk, a nest with plenty of pillows, blankets, stuffed animals, a soft rug, bookshelf, toy chest, a large window overlooking the backyard and a lantern acting as a nightlight.