A tiny thrush perches itself on a lonely branch. As it did so, a small creak resounds from the branch itself, yet still the bird’s weight is supported. Testing the branch’s strength, the thrush hops toward the edge of the branch before then hopping back to where she had first landed. It was a rather small one, yet more than capable enough to hold the her. Perhaps this would be an ideal place to build a nest, she thought.
The thrush turned to her side, curious to know where her mate was. She quickly found him, perched on a nearby branch, scouring for small insects to eat. A small centipede slowly crawled for shelter. Alas, her mate saw the opportunity for a fresh meal and took it, ending the tiny creature’s life. The thrush flew over to her mate, eager to share the meal. Both of them pecked at the centipede, raising their heads to swallow every so often. Eventually the food would reach their gizzards for grinding before finally reaching their stomachs.
From overhead, sunlight could be seen pouring through the leaves. The thrush sees all of this, and thinks of how much daylight she has left. Judging by this, she knew at least that it was noon. By now, the centipede had already been ripped apart in two, its guts spewing all the while. The thrush thought nothing more of this, it was a meal after all - nothing could go to waste.
But then a loud roaring sound was heard, interrupting the pleasant meal the two thrushes were having. She pauses for a moment, her head cocked in the direction of the roar. A new predator, maybe? The thrush didn’t think about this obviously, but her instincts dictated that she flee immediately if it ever was one. Quickly, she launches herself in the air, wings flapping hastily. In her beak, the lower half of the centipede hung loosely. It would be finished elsewhere. The thrush knew that her mate would soon follow, and together the two of them would find a home elsewhere.
As the thrush flew, wind blowing past her feathers, she cocked her head to the side, eager to know just what predator could make such a noise. But the predator is a familiar one, and an odd-looking one at that. She remembers seeing several of them before and how they usually never bothered her enough to make food of her. The tenseness she feels slowly vanishes, yet the puzzling nature of how these creatures hunt stays with her.
To the thrush, these odd-looking creatures weren’t putting food in their mouths. The way they hunted was unorthodox. Whatever they killed wasn’t eaten, but rather left for other creatures to eat. There was something much more complicated going on here, but the thrush hadn’t the intelligence to think carefully about it. Even so, the thrush feels… It was nagging at her, yet she hasn’t even the slightest of what it could be.
If only she could think about it.