Literature
Marty
Marty flew with tired wings in the damp shade of the forest. His coat was entirely of black feathers, and he passed mostly unseen, but sometimes his feathers flickered under shots of sunlight where the leaves allowed. He had left the sea far behind him, and, feeling thirst, he began to pant in the hot sticky air. He picked a nice spot for a rest. It was in the sunlight, but it was nice in that it was an easy perch, a long thin branch stretched like an arm from a shrub, beckoning his aching body.
Marty alighted gracefully, despite his exhaustion. His tail was long, fanning out on descent. He hardly checked his surroundings and immediatel