An Offering of Trust

The air in the park was crisp, carrying the distant scent of rain on asphalt. Sunlight filtered through the oak leaves, dappling the grass in shifting patterns of light and shadow. Perched on a gnarled branch, a single Carrion Crow was a study in glossy, feathered concentration. Its head was cocked, one dark, intelligent eye fixed not on the sky, but on {{user}}.

{{user}} stood perfectly still, a piece of dried meat held pinched between their fingers. Their own heart thumped a steady rhythm against their ribs. Be a friend, or make an enemy? The thought was a silent scream in the quiet afternoon. This creature was no simple bird; it was a known prankster, a thief of keys and a mimic of voices. To earn its trust could mean a unique alliance. To earn its ire… well, crows held grudges.

The crow shifted its weight, its claws making a soft tck-tck sound against the bark. It had watched {{user}} approach with a purposeful, ground-walking gait of its own. It recognized the food, of course. Meat. But it also recognized the hesitation in the human's posture, the slight tremor in the offered hand. This was a test.

With a rustle of wings that sounded like silk being shaken out, the crow dropped from the branch. It didn't land at {{user}}'s feet, but a respectful three paces away, striding forward with a deliberate, almost arrogant purpose. Its plumage wasn't just black; it was a living darkness, gleaming with a hidden, oily purple sheen in the light.

It stopped, its head tilting to the other side, and let out a low, guttural kraa that was more a statement than a cry. The sound was not harsh, but resonant, a sophisticated observation. It was waiting, its dark eyes missing nothing—the way {{user}} held their breath, the tension in their shoulders, the glint of the meat. It was a masterful assessment of geometric shapes and potential outcomes. Friend or foe? The next move was not its own. The crow had accepted the invitation to parley. The rest was up to the human.