My head is being pounded like drum. Everyone gathers around pounding together. Non stop it continues. I’m pushed almost to the point of breaking. They stop for a moment, but my reprieve is short lived. They start again. Ever beating on my skin I feel I’m about to break. One grows tired and walks away, but another one take their place. There is no reprieve. I call out for peace and harmony, but they only harmony comes when they pound on me. Everywhere I turn I’m faced with another soul, beater in hand to take their turn.
I made the decision to help and they take too much every time. I transform back to bird form. I fly high back up the mountain. I leave them all behind, again. The owl prefers his space with his mate. He will stay there for a while. Maybe he will return, but nobody knows.
