A little story about a bird - part one Upon the grey shores of Tarteen, he ceased the steady flapping of wings, curled his head to the left, and dove into the frozen waters below. Three months previous, he had devoured a king salmon, and, too full to flee an approaching storm, fell into deep slumber inside a musty cave owned by the city of Smiley, a city no one wanted to visit or stay for too long. As he slept he dreamt of directing other (smaller) birds in exquisite films about love and war. Epic pieces that would one day inspire the rest of the bird kingdom to clip their wings and stay put. He snarled and snored as birds do when the fat of a fish begins to clot parts meant for breathing, and continued to dream about drawing lines with his beak in soil, which was more of a surprise to him, for dreaming in lines had been impossible, or so he had been told by the pointed wing of an ancient burrowing owl called Sawdust.