The Duckling & the Tale of the Shag

Under a bunch of frosted burdocks a Duckling shivered. All around the air was thick with fog and a breeze began to move the burdock which had not swayed since dusk. Suddenly, the Duckling felt its feathers covered with a dusting of frost. It must have been dawn for a light had crept into the darkness. The Duckling was too fatigued to discard the frost from its feathers by ruffling, not so much because of the fatigue of its body, but because of a fatigue of the mind which weighed so heavily that all desire it had to move was extinguished.

Every night had been more miserable than the last in the life of the Duckling, and the miserableness of each night had accumulated, one night adding weight to the next. Miserableness such that any hope of it ever diminishing seemed to fade away. The Duckling wanted to close its eyes, but it could not. It had barely slept, for all its memories and feelings of abandonment and despair caused constant wakefulness, prodding at the Duckling and torturing it.

No one in the world had cared to love the Duckling.

Its siblings had laughed at it, the turkey had berated it, the cat had mocked it, and even the hunting dogs had not bothered to ring it. No, not even a likely death by hunting dogs would rid the Duckling of all its despair. It seemed to the Duckling that it could not die even when the opportunity for its demise arose. Yet even when such had arisen the Duckling somehow knew, deep inside, that it did not really want to die. With all that had happened in the short life of the Duckling, it was almost certain that a death sooner than later would not be such a bad thing, merely an end to its lonesome suffering.

Before the Duckling lay a frozen pond and the world beyond it was veiled by gloomy fog. The Duckling tried to stare into the ice to see its reflection but could see nothing mirrored there – not even the ice would communicate with the Duckling.

Suddenly, there was a whoosh above. Cowering, the Duckling barely glimpsed a shadow that briefly darkened the white veil above. When it had passed, the terrified Duckling jumped onto its webbed feet and thought to waddle away into the rushes. But something held it there; some inner urge, some faded resolve which had not yet left it. All the hours upon hours of darkness seemed to temporarily vanish from the Duckling’s mind and a curious need to know what that whoosh was glimmered in the space left behind. The Duckling then, quite unexpectedly, urged itself away from what had a moment before been the very depths of despair.

Precariously, the Duckling waddled forward onto the ice. Slipping every so often, it headed towards the shrouded direction where the shadow had gone. The air was cold and the silence was ominous. Doubt and anxiety grew in the mind of the Duckling as it went, fearing the shadow might suddenly reappear. Then, from out of the mist, spoke a lofty yet shrill voice.

“And who are you?”

The Duckling spooked, slipped and spun uncontrollably on the ice until its feathers plumed against a hard rock. Its tumble had been awkward but soon, clambering back onto its webbed toes, the Duckling beheld a startling sight. A large, emerald eye was looking at the Duckling, blinking inquisitively. An awful scar ran across the eye, below which sat a hooked beak which was chipped at the edges while a crest of icicles was lodged atop the creature’s head.

The eye then retreated.

Cowering still, the Duckling beheld a tall bird astride a rock. Its wings were held out cruciform. Its feathers were silky white and they ruffled noiselessly in the drifting mist.

“I… I am Despond, a duckling…” cried the Duckling in answer.

“Despond? What a curious name. Never met a ‘Des-pond’ before. Never saw a duckling like you before! How did you come by such a name?” The bird seemed curious.

“My name?” whimpered the Duckling. It thought of fleeing, but whether stilled by fear or courage, or both, the Duckling did not move. “They called me that, for as long as I can remember.”

“They, who are they?” asked the bird.

“My mean siblings, and a turkey, and some geese… and a cat. In fact, everyone I have met in my short, terrible life has mocked me in one way or another. None of them cared to love me, or just be my friends. They all mocked me.”

“Where are they now? Why are you all by yourself?”

“I do not know where they are… I do not care for them anymore. I ran away from them, I kept running and now I am here.”

The bird folded its wings and craned its neck a little, as if to better see the Duckling. In an amused tone it said “On the ice, in the middle of winter and all alone – how sad.”

The duckling, trembling, then dared to ask “Who are you?”

The head of the bird cocked and its eye twinkled. Its webbed talons gripped the dank moss on the rock and the bird, leaning again towards the Duckling, responded.

“I am a shag, and my name is Crag the Albino.”

As these words were spoken, the Duckling observed again the scar slashed across the eye of the shag. It was wide, coarse and protruded out of its face exactly like, the Duckling thought, a crag. Under the shag’s gaze the Duckling began to squirm, then stuttering, the Duckling finally squealed.

“The scar… how?”

The shag held its gaze. It seemed to the Duckling that it was hesitant to respond, even to move. It looked almost angry to the Duckling, yet its anger seemed tinged with sadness. The shag then moved, stepping down before the Duckling onto the ice, the surface of which cracked a little beneath its webbed talons.

“You want to know how I got this scar, do you? This irredeemable affliction? This wound of indelible memory?” The shag was not threatening the Duckling. It tensed its hooked beak as if in pain, and lowering its gaze towards the opaque ice beneath, it seemed as if it were looking at its own reflection – a feat the Duckling had not earlier been able to accomplish. The Duckling thought the shag could actually see itself and was looking at its scarred face. The shag then returned to the rock and said, “I will tell you.”

“I came into this world, little duckling, not like any of my siblings. Understand, shags have glistening black and emerald feathers; however, as you can see, I have white plumage. I was born an albino, and the moment I hatched the colony I lived in gave me only that as a name: the Albino. Because of this fate, little did I know happiness in all my life.

“Shunned from birth, I was fed last, pushed from the nest, little cared for and unloved. As soon as shags fledge, we are expected to hunt. Much of hunting comes naturally, but much skill as well comes from the nurturing of a young one by its family. My parents however ignored me and no other shag in our colony spared the time to teach me how to hunt. Not directly that is, so I had to learn indirectly by observing from afar. I was slow at first, but because of the distance and circumstances I became resourceful and well witted.

“The hunts never allowed me to join them, in fact they often left before I had a chance to try to join their flight. I watched hunters return with fish in their beaks, to lauding grunts of appraisal. At first I tried to imitate them, bearing more fish in my beak than was expected of others. But when each time I returned, it was as if I had never been away because none would receive me – only sullen glances were afforded me. So I stopped trying.

“From the youngest age I was always alone. Then to make the matter worse, one day my unloving parents disappeared without a trace and the colony whispered that they had flown away because of their shame.

“No mates were inclined in the least towards me, and even though I had known to expect as much from the moment I had hatched, my heart could never harden against the want of love from another. I made my perch farther away from the others in order that I did not have to witness the frivolous joy they possessed, as well as feel their irksomeness in my presence. Needless to say, no shag wanted me near their nest anyhow.

“In my second season of life, the colony began to mutter. The hunts were catching fewer fish and a meeting was summoned by an older brother of mine, the chieftain of the colony. There was much commotion over this issue. Many of the colony grunted that the fish had always been plentiful; that our ancestors had founded the colony there because of the abundance of the sea all around.

“The sages were called to observe offerings and read the signs. Whilst this was happening a shag grunted that all had been well up until last season, when the albino had hatched; it pointed its feathers towards me at the edge of the gathering. All then looked at me, save the sages murmuring over the offerings. Then one of the sages became possessed and hoarsely cried out, ‘ANGER! Rage of the Heavens! Cursed!’ The crying sage turned towards me with stunned eyes and hoarsely prophesied ‘Salvation lies in the flight of the white winged…’

“The colony whispered, then became agitated; all were of one mind. Embarrassed and speechless, I cowered under every gaze and slight. The chieftain, my brother, silenced the colony. Then he approached me and said ‘Leave.’

“I thought I had wept all my tears, but yet my eyes did wet and as I went to flee and fly away, I left a tear there on the ground. Not knowing where to go, I flew across the bay and found a cave atop a cove, where the rock was sharp and the swell tall. That was it, I was now ostracised and damned to being alone.

“How my heart burned with every possible emotion! I hated and cursed the colony. I stamped the ground. When I spied from across the bay the colony and all my siblings together with their hatchlings, how I loathed them. I pitied myself and fell to the floor. Jealousy and despair hounded me. I vowed never again to return to the colony.

“Farther and farther away I hunted, and endless were the lonesome leagues of oceans I traversed and the coasts I flew along. I saw many places and many great beasts in the surf. Little did I know that for a shag I was flying far longer than what was normal; that my wingspan grew broad and that my strength became great.

“I discovered fair coastlines with tributaries and estuaries rich with fish. I even spotted the nests of mystical humans and witnessed them on their floating logs. I observed sheltered and sturdy cliff faces in distant places where I thought colonies of shags might fare well. Many were the caves I thought I might move to and make my own, and thus be gone for good from the colony that had forsaken me. But there was one thing that stopped me from doing so. The only thing left in the world that I cared for: my shells.

“When I returned from each far-flown voyage, I made a habit of bringing back a beautiful and unique shell. I might have found a shell under a receding wave on a beach, or washed up in a cave. I thought them resplendent and their beauty kept my heart from the abyss that was trying to claim it. I gathered them and with my beak, and with the passions of my soul, I arranged and rearranged them into patterns and images. In those arrangements I witnessed a grace and a hope which was beyond the world of my existence and being.

“One day, many seasons later, I returned to my cave and discovered a shell on the threshold which I had not placed there myself. I knew it was not a shell that I had found. It was, however, the most beautiful shell I had ever seen. As I admired it, a voice spoke which startled me. I turned and beheld a marvelous creature perched on the edge of the cliff, just beyond the threshold. It was a cormorant, the most elegant cormorant I had ever seen.

“It said its name was Ino and told me that it had passed the colony and when stopping to observe it from the cave, it had found my shells. It spoke to me as if it were softly singing. Ino marveled at the patterns and images of my shells, and all their sensitivities, saying that what I had fashioned with them was a homage worthy of the heavens. Ino said that in all the seas, it knew where the most precious of shells lay, and had fetched one of them as a gift to me for the work I had done.

“I struggled to say anything, to find words of gratitude, for I was shy and was not practiced in the way of speaking. Ino told me not to be afraid, but to keep the gift, for I was apparently special and worthy of it. Ino said one last thing, that it perceived the colony was troubled and that one day they would need me and on that day they would see my white feathers for what they are and come to esteem me as one among them. Before I could say anything – and I do not know how – Ino disappeared. I was stunned.

“For a long time I clutched the beautiful shell left by Ino and wondered what it, and the words Ino had spoken, meant. From across the bay, I began again to observe the colony with curiosity. As time passed it became apparent that what Ino had said was true, the colony was indeed troubled.

“For many seasons, I was aware that the colony had been fine, that the hunts had not to go too far, even though the fish had never replenished to the abundant levels of the past. But now I saw that the fish had become even sparser than before and that a famine gripped the colony. The hunts were attempting to go farther and farther away to find fish, but owing already to a lack of fish, they were too poorly nourished to do so. The famine did not touch me for I had already many seasons ago learnt to fly far and wide, and had become strong and resourceful.

“The famine, I could see, was dire. It was claiming many hatchlings and aged shags for the great horizon beyond. In my heart I was sick with bitter torment with what to do. The words of Ino came back to me repeatedly, with the sense of damnation of an unfulfilled prophecy. But what could I do? Yes, I could fly to those far away seas where I knew the fish were, hunt them and return with what I could carry. But what good would that be? You see, I knew no matter how many fish I hunted, it would never be sufficient for the whole colony and many would perish from starvation even so. And what more, it would be of little comfort to the colony, for they would simply continue to see me as the embodiment of the curse which had brought upon them the famine in the first place. They would not deign to let me near them, not even to receive my accursed fish. I knew that would be the case, and how could I expect anything else? But above all, as I asked myself time and time again, what did I owe the colony? What soul down there deserved my help? When all they had done for me was nothing, if not worse.

“Watching the colony and turning all this over in my mind, I felt my heart harden and my soul fading to darkness. It was as if I were becoming a crone of obsidian, the very hard rock on which the colony resided – and was dying on. I felt as if I were the earth which their lives depended on; that I was nature herself and I was reckoning on them. And if one of them could bear to lift their famished eye across the bay towards my cove and cave – my eerie – they might have witnessed a vulture there in the place of a shunned sibling. And then, and only then, they might have actually seen their sibling for who it was – as one of them! No different! Not a lesser bird! Nor greater! With as sick and hollow a soul as theirs! And they would see that we were all starving in one way or another; equals unto birth, equals unto death. Then they would beg me to be among them as an egg is among eggs in a nest.

“With those terrible thoughts I almost felt glee slithering up into my soul, an acceptance and damnation which verged on the hysterical. But just as that coldness was entering my heart, I spied a hunt returning to the colony. They looked like stragglers escaped from some terrible ordeal, barely flapping their wings, on their last reserves – feather-plucked and done in. Those of the colony that could meet them left their nests. Suddenly there was an unusual commotion, frantic and despairing grunts reached my ears from across the bay, carried by the wind.

“It was at that moment I looked down and saw my webbed talon clutching Ino’s precious shell. It stunned me into fright and I reeled backwards. As I beheld it a pain seared into my mind and wracked my wings. For some reason I felt hatred towards the shell, resenting it for the goodness that shone from it, its sin being the only object of goodness I had ever known on this earth. It was a strange, all-consuming sensation; I thought the shell was trying to wield power over me, to communicate to me, or to fight me. I felt it punishing me, hurting me, and not from without but from within my soul.

“But then I realised that the shell looked no different, that it was not doing anything and had not changed as I had perceived it. It simply lay there on the threshold of the cave where my webbed talons had just been clutching it. A darkness then lifted from all around me and my pain began to subside. I reached out and clutched Ino’s shell. Then I suddenly remembered my cave. I looked inside and beheld all the hundreds of shells I had gathered during all the seasons of my lonesome and far-flown voyages. They were beautifully arrayed and seemed to shine on me with rays of warm light. I was overcome with emotion and wept.

“I did then what I vowed I would never do again. I placed Ino’s shell on the threshold, looked across the bay, and then took flight downwards, toward the colony. I landed in the midst of the commotion of the returned hunt. With frightful disgust the colony beheld me and fell silent. The stragglers were dragging their webbed talons. It was then I realised how much greater a bird I was now compared to them, for I had not been near another shag for many a season.

“What has happened?” I implored. Their gazes were famished and longing, yet afraid and suspicious. One of the stragglers of the hunt spoke.

“ ‘It is the famine you have cursed upon us with your existence, you albino!’ The straggler spluttered at me. ‘We are hunting every day, far and wide, and finding fewer and fewer fishes to feed our hatchlings. Because of you! Now we have just returned from the farthest we have ever flown to hunt and have met the doom which you continue to bring upon us. We spotted mystical humans on the great surf, pulling out of the ocean innumerable fish on what looked like knotted grass – enough fish to feed a hundred colonies of shags! Out of desperation we dared to assail the humans and take their captured fish. A great battle commenced, but due to our fatigue we were as good as bested and seized no fish. A retreat was sounded and to grant the safety of the hunt our chieftain of the colony, the bravest of us all – your brother – protected our escape. But in doing so he was captured by knotted grass himself. What evil has befallen us, and yet it does not cease. Have we not told you already? Leave!’

“Silence ensued and all of the colony glared at me. I was about to speak but I knew that words would not help me for the lack of their use, nor would it convey anything to those who would not listen to me anyhow. I looked up to the cliffline and saw that the sun had already dipped beneath it. Strangely, I thought I glimpsed the silhouette of a bird up there.

“The wind was falling ever greater from off the land and I felt it beneath my wings. I looked at the colony once more, with pity and without hate. Then I raised my broad white wings and the colony cowered. I caught the wind, rose and swerved off the cliff and over the sea.

“I had no plan, but I knew where I had to go. Nothing in my life had presented so singular a task. I had observed the direction from which the hunt had returned as well as the winds which had carried them; and for my part, I had met the oceans and I knew the tempers of the great winds which beat their eternal journeys across them.

“The last light of dusk vanished but in its stead, by some providence of the heavens, the moon was fully rounded and cresting over the horizon. But the winds built and the gusts grew more violent. In that feverous gale, I was thankful, as I had never been before, for all those lonesome seasons voyaging across the great blue; for the strength they had given me and for the broadness of my wings. What had once been to me an existence of banishment, now seemed more like the forging of a destiny. My heart was kindled with gratitude, yet I was also afraid.

“Beneath my flight, the ocean was in a terrible commotion: tumultuous and mountainous. After much of the night had passed, I spied a blinking dim light on the horizon which I recognised immediately as the light of human magic. Banking towards it, the blinking eventually ceased and I realised that the waves were shielding the magic intermittently. I slanted my wings, dived down and grasped onto something that was like a branch. My perch was precarious as the world veered to and fro. I looked down at humans working with their knotted grass as silver surf crashed over them – they were grasping fish in quantities I had never seen before.

“But there to my horror was the chieftain of the colony, my brother, sodden and wrapped in knotted grass. Without forethought I dived down to the chieftain whom I feared dead, but as I began to grapple with the knotted grass, I felt him shake himself alive. In the wet moonlight our eyes met and I saw that his eyes were stunned at the sight of mine.

“Before he could even mutter a word, I was suddenly grasped by the neck and brought face to face with a human, who growled at me. I lurched forward with my beak and attacked its face. Suddenly, I was free from its grip, but all around the other humans were approaching to attack. Flapping wildly, I rose above and dived down again and again at the humans, with my webbed talons and with my beak.

“In a brief moment to regain my strength I alighted on what I thought was a solid branch, but it suddenly gave way and there was a tearing noise. A great trunk swang across the humans who dived out of its way. But I did not anticipate the trunk and it caught the side of my face as it swung, tearing my flesh up and across my eye. I thought I might have been thrown into the sea, but I crashed onto the floor in blinded agony. Suddenly, the knotted grass ensnaring all the fish began to recede back into the ocean and the humans, distracted, rushed to retrieve it.

“Perceiving an opportunity, I neglected the pain searing my face. I flew over to the chieftain and frantically tried to unknot him, but the task proved impossible. With all the strength I could muster, I bit the knotted grass with my beak, flapping wildly to force it apart. Under the strain, my beak chipped and I fell back. The pain was now doubly worse, for part of the flesh of my mouth had sundered away with the chip of my beak. But in that agony I realised that where my beak had been chipped it was as sharp as shattered flint.

“I clambered over to the chieftain and with great pangs of torment I furiously cut and tore apart the knotted grass with my chipped beak. The chieftain slipped out of the snare and beheld me astounded. As we were gazing at each other, one of the humans roared and began to make towards us. With no time to spare, I urged my sibling, shouting ‘LEAVE!’ at him. The chieftain attempted to take flight, but was weak. Lurching beneath him, I pushed my brother up into the wind which he caught with his wings. With that push I too grasped the wind, barely escaping a human clutching upwards to try and catch my webbed talons.

“For the first time in my life I flew abreast with another shag, but little did I heed the moment. The chieftain was strenuously exhausted, for I did not know at that time that my sibling had sacrificed his rations for others and was thus starving. The winds were mighty and wrestling with us with such great force, I feared that all might be in vain. To prolong the chieftain’s remaining strength and thus save him from falling into the sea, from time to time I buoyed him with my back – a punishing effort as my own reserves diminished.

“The moon had waxed beyond this earth, and only the stars, the wind and the sea remained. Dawn then covered the violent world around us in grey. But just as I thought my own reserves would fail, I heard a voice imperceptibly singing in the gale and as quick as a stroke of my wing the wind veered favourably for our return.

“We reached the colony and on landing the chieftain collapsed onto the ground, conscious but spent. Many cormorants came from their nests. All began to gather around us, all silent. I stood apart and the pain of my wounds returned with anguish. I saw the blood crusted on my white feathers. My beak and face thundered, but the wounds had congealed in the wind like frost at the onset of night. Then I saw a drop of blood fall from my face and splatter on the ground, on the very spot I thought, where when I had been banished, my tear had fallen.

“Sages flocked towards the chieftain who lay panting on the ground. The chieftain muttered something to them with great effort. The same sage who had cried my doom to the colony many seasons ago now stepped forward, facing me; and in the sight of all, said astounded, ‘Salvation lies in the flight of the white winged.’ ”

After speaking the words of the sage, the shag stopped speaking. The Duckling on the ice was amazed, having quite forgotten all its gloom and fright.

“What then?” asked the Duckling, eagerly. “What became of the colony? Did they allow you back in? Did the fish return? And… and is that why you are called Crag?” The shag adjusted itself on the rock, pricking up at the mention of its name.

“When the colony learnt of how I had saved the chieftain, they were confused. They had long thought ill of me and they struggled to dispel all their previous beliefs about me and my white plumage. But the realisation that had accompanied the words the sage had spoken changed their minds and they began to see me differently. In fact, I began to see myself quite differently too. Suddenly, I was being spoken to and questioned, beheld without suspicion. They attended to my wounds without disgust, even touching my feathers, washing and grooming them.

“Nevertheless, the exploits of myself and the chieftain would not rid the colony of the famine. A meeting was shortly called to reassess the predicament. Amazingly, I was asked to speak. Part of me thought it might have been out of desperation, but I saw in their eyes a sincerity and an interest which I had never before beheld in them.

“At first, I spoke with great difficulty, but soon I found what words I could and reckoned on the situation of the colony with great rhetoric. I reasoned with the colony that either the fish had simply gone by their own accord or, as I suspected, the colony had come into competition with humans and were losing. There were, as I perceived, only three courses of action left to the colony to attempt to overcome the famine, but they were all of them perilous: to hope for the fish to return; to go to war with the humans; or exodus.

“There was much commotion. The weak or grey were inclined to hope for the return of the fish, a lot of the young clamoured for war, few considered exodus. After much talk a sage asked which of the courses I thought was best. I told them that I believed exodus was the likeliest path to salvation. There was silence as I made my arguments.

“Firstly I discredited the idea of war, that human-kind was too powerful to match in a fight for our bird-kind, that they had magic and nefarious means. Secondly, I reminded them of their current plight and the futility of placing their hopes in what amounted to pure chance. Finally, I explained how I had flown many leagues of coastlines and had seen much of the world, and that out there there were many fair cliffs ideal for colonies, along seas abundant with fish. I said that with courage the colony could make the journey, at least to an interim stage, find fish and send return parties to the weak and less able left behind, to nourish them before it was their turn to depart. Then a new colony would be found – a new home. Finishing, I exclaimed that it is only by our actions that we control our own destiny, and that our path to salvation would remain but a dream until the first stroke of our wings beat the air.

“Many were roused, but there were also protests. Many proclaimed their long enduring love of their nests, where their families had lived for seasons immemorial. Some questioned my legitimacy to speak, they said what would an albino, an outcast know about colonies and the needs they had. But suddenly the chieftain, somewhat rekindled, spoke among them with finality.

“ ‘Was it not I who thought I faced death at the hands of the mystical humans, but was saved by the white winged? Remember the words of the sage, and how it seems we have misinterpreted them, how we have misunderstood the meaning of the ‘white winged’. Our destiny is evidently not clear for us to see; our presumptions have been wrong, have they not? And our offerings in vain? Trust I say, in the albino whose actions saved my life, for he may save all of yours, and mine again.’

“An exodus was agreed upon and the colony flew out in stages, the strongest setting out first, for the weakest dared not yet undertake such a journey. Whilst leading the advance party, I directed hunts to waters beyond their knowledge to bring back fish for the weak and strengthen them for their departure. It took time. Many were frightened and many found their journey arduous. Thus the exodus was eventually accomplished, though with great effort, and the colony found a new home and new hope.

“Was I brought back into the colony? I suppose I could have returned. I spent some time amongst them, helping them and they were grateful to me, now kind as they had never been. The young, who had not known me before, were the kindest and most friendly. This was how I came upon my name Crag, for the naive little ones had thought it apt with all the stories they had heard and all the legends they had conjured up. A name they thought suited the scar and chipped beak they saw. With this, everyone else began to call me Crag, although with reforged emphasis and in formal company, but devoid of any distaste, Crag the Albino.

“But there was little to say to those I had known. We were embarrassed in company, for there was still a difficult past that lay between us. I had forgiven them, though I could tell that few had forgiven themselves.

“Consider how I felt: I had already seen too much, and yet too little of the world, to remain content forever with the colony. My heart yearned for the open seas and all the strange climes of the world I had already known. I had found a solace in those journeys, a solace that I knew was unattainable in the surroundings of the society which I once knew, and had now met again.

“Before I revealed that I had decided to go, and was about to leave, an extraordinary event occurred. In the first season of the reestablished colony, an albino cormorant was born among the hatchlings and I witnessed with amazement how the colony treated the little chick. With love and care, as an egg is among eggs in a nest. I was touched in a way I had never imagined, and the last bitter feelings I had dwindled away. I vowed then to the colony that I would return often and forevermore.

“And so you see, little duckling, you may be shunned by society. It may discard you. Your heart may have to burn alone. You may despair for all your life about it. But never give up living. Never stop arranging shells in your cave, never stop going out alone into the unknown world and building your strength in whatever you are good at. Practice forgiveness, and you will see your soul lighten. You will find peace. And a day will come when the heavens will call upon you to do the incredible and you will redeem your existence.”

The Shag raised its wings and in a whoosh disappeared over and behind the Duckling. The fog had almost dispersed and a warm light now shone over the frozen pond. Deep in thought, the Duckling waddled back to where it had been at the break of dawn. There it found the same burdock, but now it was sparkling with droplets. Underneath it, in the very place where the Duckling had spent the night before, lay the most beautiful shell.

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#ostracise #solitude #bird #colony #resentment #ShortStory #hate #redemption