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One week after that crisis the three youngsters in the nest took their first test flights. All went well and with a final glance at their parents, they flew off to make their own earthly way and continue the cycle of life.
Ever mindful of their duty, the pair who had mated for life, waited for their injured child to expand his wings and soar away. He flapped furiously, but was unable to get even a fraction of an inch off the ground. It was his broken wing. Never properly healed, it was as functional as a fallen log.
The parents stayed for three more sunrises by the side of the young one-winged redbird. Finally they had to leave as it was time for them to restart their cycle. Soon they would start their next nest and would have two to four new fledglings to feed and care for.
One-wing, as I now called him, was alone in the harsh world and would soon lose his life to a wandering feline or perhaps a random hawk. The manner of his expiration was uncertain, but not the fact of it.
I had to step in. What harm could it cause? I had to give him special treatment. I took in One-wing and he became the most handsome cardinal I have ever seen. His hue was of the deepest scarlet; with a crest that was high, regal, and sharply defined above the shiny sepia mask surrounding his beak.
A fine singer, he entertains me day and night from his cage; with a variety of pleasing notes and sounds that often mimic human words.
“What-what-what. Wow-ow-ow. Hoo-loop, hoo loop, hoo loop,” he sings using his favorite phrases, often repeated in definite patterns and series.
