It is intriguing to witness a peculiarity. Like a drop of ink, creating swirling tendrils on cool stagnant waters. However, that single oddity may taint, engulf, its vast depths dyeing the waters forever. This is what Jagra feels, caution and suspicion, as his eyes settle upon the perching bird, red as blood, feigning curiousity and innocence.
As though sensing the man's suspicious gaze, the bird chirps. The sound is light and pure. However, Jagra remains unfaltered.
The ground trembles at his feet. The crystals on the trees shook, clinking in pure noise like glass bumping against each other. Confused and afraid, Jagra kept himself balanced. His eyes darted around him, unable to decern the cause of the quakes. Then his head snaps to the branch where the red bird was only to find it empty. It was gone.
