What Changed Me

Prologue

Crows are some of the most elegant and intelligent creatures in the world, being black as night, with beady dark eyes and long, sharp beaks. They are magnificent creatures.

They can mimic human sounds, like simple greetings, clicks, calls, rattles, coos and much like it. They have the ability to remember human faces so they can hold a grudge until the end of their time. Then they even keep the knowledge of what or who hurt them, even passing it down to their chicks. Even at the end of a crow's life they are shown love. Their family will have a funeral for them, mourn their death, then even give an autopsy to see how their friend was killed.

Even with that, crows have their own personality. Some are silly, smart, cranky, hesitant, confident, sarcastic, jealous, caring, just as he is called by his family. When he was born his parents looked out the window and saw two dark, intelligent, and beautiful crows. The symbol given to them on that day was joy. He, their first and only son, brought them joy.

The day he was born was the happiest day of their lives. They had a boy. Boys bring wealth, fame, joy, and protection. Girls are poor, obscure, and bring sadness upon those who have one. This is even greater if it is their first. Luckily for his family he was born male. Being cared for was something expected, but not being loved. He was fed, bathed, and needed to learn how to fight so he could protect his family and then in the future go fight for the town.

Women can't do that. They can't fight as they are weak. Women have frail bodies, made for giving birth and caring for their family. Feeding, clothing and taking care of the house was all on the women. They are not desired as the first child as they will not help the community and family. The men were taught how to provide. Get food and give it to the women. Work for someone and get money to buy what was necessary. Learn how to fight to protect the children and women. What does he want? He wants to love someone, but there is nobody for him to love, or who loves him.

"Oh my sweet boy! Your father is taking you to the woods today. May you learn the hunt and come back with a surplus of food." His mother spoke, cooking a meal for the family. "Yes my dear mother" He hesitated. Not wanting to learn to hunt brought shame to the family, mainly the parents. They raised a boy who didn't want to give back to his mother and father, the ones who gave him life, a home, food and everything else needed for life."Sit, sit my dear boy! Food is ready. I've made eggs. You must eat up before your hunt."

The first meal was always the longest for him. The second was easy for him to eat outside or just not eat all together, as it was the greatest escape. Sitting outdoors, the warmth of the sun rays soaking his ever so tanned skin. The feeling of love from the dear god Apollo, who rules over the sun, with that feeling of belonging, ever so bright, burning into my chest. Then there was one more meal. The third. Mother would force him to a chair, the warmth from Apollo would rapidly disappear. The only feeling they would feel was pride. The joy of having a boy as their first child, the pride of having him so caring and helpful, so willing to obey orders given by anyone.

The first time he was ordered to kill would be something ingrained into his mind until the day his soul left his body and he descended to the heavens above. Watching an arrow shoot through a young Buck, the arrow plummeting out of the deep brown fur and bright red flesh, as crimson stained his hands, he could wash the stains away, but the color of the young's flesh would stay in his mind for eternity.

The warmth from Apollo was still there, but he refused to let it seep into him, through his flesh, hitting his heart as the arrow struck the lone Buck. Looking down at his hands, dark crimson staining them with the feeling of tightness gripping onto his chest.  The blood pulsing in his heart, running into and from his heart. Words, in an echo, fall from his lips, as his knees  buckled, his ass hitting the ground, covering him in thick mud. His hands were coated in dark brown, not crimson. He was fine. He was home. He was as safe as he could be. With a hollar from his oh so dear mother he walked inside.

"Oh, my boy-"  she exclaimed, rushing over to clean him- "what happened? It's not like you to get this dirty. You're ruining the clothes I've worked so hard to make for you," She spat. "I-" he began, slowly, helping pull the muddy clothes off himself, and washing his hair and body with a cloth-"There was a pile of mud that I didn't see. I should've been more careful. I'm sorry mother","he responded, with his face whiting from fear. Father would hate him for this. He loves how hard his mother worked on what she made for the family. He would shoot him, just as he shot the buck. Her smile twisted into something sinister. "I'll let your father deal with this mess. Go find him, I need to cook." She barked, as the food on the stove boiled over. "I can deal with it by myself, mother. I'm growing, I'm not a child anymore." He spoke, with a small panic in his voice. "Then clean yourself, my dear. Be ready when I call you or I'll send your father to fetch you," she huffed.

Walking out of that room to clean himself, he faced the biggest challenge. His father was in the next room over, reading "The Art of War," a classic. No attention was placed on him, every ounce of his focus was on his book. This made the trek to his small, compact, but homey room comfortable.

The small game gun and bow hung on his wall, a small bed with animal fur as the thin comforter, a table, where he did most raging, hurting, and put his clothes. There were drawers in the desk that he used. He rapidly guided himself toward the clothes. A shirt and pants laid out, red for the shirt, orange for pants.

After changing he strolled out of his room, taking his seat at the dinner table.

His mother is first to speak, a flat, bitter tone leaking off her tongue. "I'm pregnant, with a girl," she explains "And you must help take care of her, with much of my help." A sister. It's what he always dreamed of. "Yes mother" he gleefully replied.

After waiting months and months he looked out of his small window and saw a magnificent sight. Four crows. Hours after the sight came Kassie. His little sister, whoms first word was his name, refused to leave his side. He knew he needed to protect her from that day forward. "I promise Kassie, I will always protect you until the day I die."