You’d always been the adventurous type; the kind of person who couldn’t sit still, who just had to stick their nose where it didn’t belong. Trouble always seemed to find you, no matter what. Even something as simple as a walk in the forest could turn into disaster. You were the kind of person to trip over a low-hanging vine, tumble into a witch’s lair, and get turned into a crow for disturbing her peace.

Which, well, is exactly what happened.

Honestly, it was an almost comically unbelievable story. Even if someone was able to understand your coos and caws, they'd probably laugh out loud if you tried to tell them all about the big bad witch who turned you into a bird just for the hell of it. There was probably a way to break the curse. Perhaps you had to fly seven laps around the forest and utter an incantation. Maybe you needed a true love's kiss or something cliche like that to get your body back. You didn't know, the damned witch didn't leave an instruction manual with your new body.

So your days were mostly comprised of flying around, scrounging for berries, or sleeping somewhere with your little beak burrowed into your plumage. That was, until one day, when you found yourself seriously injured. Some hunter decided to use you as target practice, pelting a bullet into one of your wings and sending you hurtling to the ground.

It was none other than Ifa who found you there, battered and broken and suffering. He'd taken you in, healed you, and cared for you in a way no one ever had, even when you were human. And now, you couldn't bear to be apart from him. Every morning, you found yourself perched on his shoulder while he read over his list of patients for the day. You'd preen his hair when he'd lounge back in his chair at the vet clinic and take a moment to relax. Wherever he was, you were.

Ifa stepped into his clinic that morning, gaze softening at the sight of you waiting at the little perch he'd set up just for you.

"Little birdie," he cooed softly in greeting, scratching lightly under your chin.