night crows.

He sat on the horizon between stars and sky - always between stars and sky. He shook with the wind, his hair beating in waves against his furrowed forehead, his eyes lowered against the icy fingers of the night. He was the boy on the hill, the boy on the hill surrounded by the silence of night crows, always the night crows. He shifted his bony ass, the granite slab was uncomfortable - cold and unforgiving. Fuck this space, he thought. But he knew he had to stay put - he had to wait. The dark crows around him blinked silently and waited. We are all in the game together, he smirked to himself. The crows shifted and rustled their harsh black feathers in agreement - or so he thought. And then there was movement on the hill - a silhouette, long legs moving across the near horizon. The boy bit his lip in anticipation and comfort. The night crows silently fluttered their wings as they arranged and rearranged themselves into a comfortable formation. The boy smirked again. Crows, he thought - always got an eye for an event, always there when something is about to happen. No wonder they are said to be portents: "Nosy fuckers..." he grumbled aloud. The crows twitched in his direction, but said nothing. Then in unison with the boy, they all swivelled their heads towards the long legged man who was fast approaching.