Wepet Renpet 2022 || Writing Submission, Skar Quilor

Deep within the Kingdom of Animalia, well-within the Genus Gyps, there lives a Bird of Prey easily identified by its broad wingspan and iconic white neck and head; the Griffon Vulture.

The Vulture sat perched on a lonely rockface overseeing a valley. The bird hadn’t been there for several seasons, mostly because he had been busy trying to find a mate. The valley had changed; where previously the kind animals of the forest would leave the carrion for him to pick through and eat from, now the forrest had been cleaved in half; a dirty-smelling black slab of stone with unnatural white lines on them desecrating his 30 year old feeding grounds.

Deep in thought, the Vulture slowly moved his head from left to right to scan the area with his excellent eyesight, looking carefully for carrion or carcasses. After a couple swooshes from left to right, the bird found what he was looking for and spread his wings, wildly flapped his beautifully feathered wings and jumped off the ledge only to peacefully glide into the air, carried by a hot upwards air stream. The Vulture needed to get to the carcass before any of his fellow scavengers would get to it, and he was so hungry he’d fight off anyone who got too close to his prize…

Unbeknownst to the Vulture, a lonely Owl had taken to the skies earlier than he normally does, in an attempt to find the mice before they scurry away wildly and hide in their muddy holes.

“Dirty bird!” the Venture suddenly heard as he was digging his beak into the fresh carcass. He spread his wings aggressively and turned around, clotted blood dripping down his sharp beak. He waddled slightly forward and stood partly over the carcass, protecting it with his massive body. “What? This is mine… go away, bird…” He said and continued his dinner, attempting to pay the ‘pretty bird’ no mind. He knew the owls were everyone’s favorite, and it upset him that he was getting bothered during his dinner. The sound of snapping tendons echoed throughout the forest, and it seemed to repulse the Owl.

“Why do you eat that, Dirty Bird?” the Owl asked, turning his head slightly to the side, the big and yellow eyes piercing and almost scary to the Vulture. He continued soon after with a slight hoot; “Like, why don’t you just get prey that are bite sized?”

The Vulture turned his head around, the hind quarters of the carcass dangling down its beak. He let it fall on the ground and spoke softly, but very clearly; “Because all the proper birds - like yourself - take the easy prey.” He then bit off the tendon that he had struggled with earlier and swallowed it. “Besides, somebody needs to clean up the mess you all leave behind.” He then used his beak to press a crooked feather close to his neck straight, and grunted softly. His beak had left a trail of red and brown blood on his coat, but the Vulture didn’t quite care. “Oh woe is he with the dirty coat.” The Vulture said just before he buried his face back into the carcass. He produced raspy and drawn-out hissing sounds while he was feeding on the carcass.

“You gross me out, Dirty Bird…” The Owl said and turned his head away, his eyes focussing and refocusing as he heard something scuttle past them in the forest. “I just eat the mice, in one big bite! Easy!” The Owl turned his head further around, now looking behind him. “Much easier than having to rip them apart…” He hooted softly, but with a slight distressed quality to the hoot that the Vulture had not heard before. It was then that the Owl softly replied to the Vulture’s snarky remark; “”My coat is never dirty, always nice and brown.” He hooted contently, turning his head back to face the Vulture, who had only just pulled out what the Vulture seemed to get endless pleasure from but all the Owl felt was disgust and repulsion. “I-... Dirty Bird? Is… Is that in all of us?” The Owl asked and tilted his head to the side to see what the Vulture was holding in its beak.

“Yes, every one of us birds has that. It tastes amazing, though…” the Vulture said and ripped into the weirdly looking, fleshy lump of meat, several tubes sticking out. He tore a piece of the lump off and ate it, before tilting his head to face the Owl, saying softly and with a lot of aggressive hissing and grunting; “Help yourself to it. I’m almost done..” He began to turn around but not before he softly muttered; “Other scavengers will need to eat, too. Better leave some for them…”

The Owl simply stood there, intrigued by the fact the vulture had told him that it tasted amazing, but repulsed by the fact it had already been dead for a while. He hooted softly, waddling closer still afraid the big vulture would turn around and swat him with his big wings. The Owl however knew that he was fast enough and could fly away before he got hit, and hooted once more. He was now right in front of the lump on the grassy floor and turned his head to the side to see what the Vulture was up to, and then picked at the lump of meat, and immediately realized that it was still filled with blood and that the meat was softer and juicier than any ordinary field mice. The Owl closed his yellow eyes as he picked into the meat and ripped of a small piece, threw it into the air and swallowed it whole. He prepared to gag and vomit it out again, but that feeling didn’t appear and instead his gratified tummy growled and radiated with warmth. He hooted happily, not once, not twice… but three hoots consecutively. He’d never before eaten from a carcass, and for once he felt like the shackles of perfection had fallen from his wings and could no longer hold him back. That feeling lasted only until the Vulture began speaking again…

“You’ve been living in a cage of perfection, Jail Bird…” the Vulture said, hissing at the fitting nickname he had chosen for the Owl. “A jail filled with little mice and perfectly alive prey.” the Vulture snarked and grunted amusedly. “I wouldn’t mind some live prey, Jail Bird…” Vulture said, waddling close to the Owl.

The Owl realized rather late that the Vulture had already gotten so close, and hooted in distress as the big-winged bird of prey stood in front of him. “Ehm… Dirty Bird, you’re looking disgusting.”

The Vulture just produced a drawn-out hiss that ended into several soft grunts and remarked snarkily; “Says you. Look at your own coat with that twisting head of yours.” He grunted a little more, waddling back a couple steps. “I want to hunt. I want to find something that hasn’t been dead for a day, and eat it.”

The Owl twisted his head so he could look at his coat, and realized that it too had stained red. “O-Oh…” The Owl said and looked back at the Vulture; “I… I hope that it doesn’t stay that way.” He was quiet for a mere second before hopping closer to the Vulture, asking him with the softest possible voice; “It doesn’t stay that way, does it?”
“For an Owl, you are really not that into blood.” the Vulture said, shaking his head amusedly. “Just do some preening, and it’ll go away with time. Don’t worry so much, you’re a pretty bird and you’ll continue to be one.” Realizing he had just said something really nice to the Owl, the Vulture hissed and snipped his beak at the bird in frustration. “I’m hungry. Do we hunt or not…”

The Owl just stood there quietly for a while, stunned at the Vulture’s sudden sweet words. He then looked at the remainder of the lump of meat and quickly turned towards it, leaped nearly between the Vulture’s feet and tore of a large piece. The Owl looked at the Vulture and threw it into the sky, and as it fell down opened his mouth to swallow it whole. It was right at that moment that the Owl heard it; mice! He turned his head to face the direction of the sound, and saw two little field mice skittering around. He tilted his head to the side, prepared his claws to jump and grab the little snacks but then relaxed them again. He looked at the Vulture, then slowly turned back towards the mice, then the Vulture again and realized that the big bird was producing a hissing sound that he had only heard once before; it sounded as if he was amused. It was at that moment that the Owl decided to throw off the shackles of perfection and waddled before flapping his wings. “We hunt, Dirty Bird.”

“Please tell me you’re not going to force me to eat those little mice, Jail Bird?” The Vulture asked snarkily, but with an amused undertone to his voice. The flapping of wings could be heard all throughout the forest by now, and he grunted as he himself took to flight, hearing the Owl say;

“We can take on anything, as long as we do it together, Dirty Bird.” He flew off and was quickly followed by the Vulture, who with his wingspan cast a shadow over the much smaller Owl.

The Vulture hissed and grunted loudly in amusement, saying; “This is going to be fun, Owl.”

And the Owl only realized after several long seconds that the Vulture had actually called him by his proper name, and hooted softly, a warmth spreading through his perfect Owl body…