I climbed down from the gate onto the dung-sodden pathway. The crow circled above me, "Caw, caw, caw!" he cried. Looking up, I wondered was he warning me, "Hello, I called. "Rattle, ring. Rattle ring!" The change in his sound spoke to me. I waved, "Nice to meet you, crow."

"Clickety-click-click-click," I heard excitement in his response. He dove down and circled just a few feet above me. "Hello, Crow," I said. And with that, he swooped and settled on the gate.

Crow captivated me. I was used to seeing these black birds in horror films, where they hung around graveyards and gallows, signalling ominous happenings. But up close in real life, this crow wasn't scary, particularly when I recalled Dad's voice, "There's nothing to fear in a crow. It's only because they're black and ugly that they do be used in these films," he said."

"My friend, Mike Taylor, says the Devil disguises himself as a crow," I said, eager to hear Dad's take on Mike's playground pronouncement that petrified me.

"Not at all, son, there's no evil in a crow, only good. They do look after each other better than us people do. They even have funerals when one of them dies." He leaned into me, "When you're at home, and you see a crowd of them up on a gable, you'll hear them crying, mourning the death of a loved one. Crows are beautiful creatures; it's just their misfortune to be ugly looking things," he said, with knowing surety.

Crow's appearance and Dad's insight were revelatory to me. If Crow was tall-man's friend, then I countered that he wasn't an evil spirit, but more a lost and lonely soul, searching for someone or something. "How are you today, Crow?" He answered with a "Click" that stunned me – this bird was talking to me.

......

Crow jumped from the gate, but he didn't take off. Instead, he took to the floor by my feet and hopped off to my right – into the woods.

I followed him into the woodland, and felt myself become lighter as it became denser and darker. My feet traversed soft, spongy terrain instead of cold concrete slabs. I marvelled at the natural beauty of this environment compared to the manufactured artifice I was used to. Above all, I revelled in the solitude. There was no one here to hurl words at me – "Puff. "Pansy." "Sissy." No, it was just me, following a friendly crow towards the sound of flowing water – bliss.

......

My mind wandered, and amidst its wanderings, I lost Crow. He neither soared nor hopped below me. Not that I could see if he flew above, for the trees created a raggedy roof that offered only the occasional glimpse of sky.

So, I followed the rush of flowing water.

......

Eventually, I arrived at a clearing and a sight that made me gasp. A cascading crystal stream flowed over shiny rocks into an almost perfectly round pool, a lagoon framed by lush green ferns.

Peering into it, I marvelled at how clear the water was. A sense of

pride washed over me when I thought about bringing Maria and Dermot to this diamond in the woods – I had found our own private oasis.

Sitting on a mossy stump, I drank in my surroundings. I felt quenched by the beautiful shapes, colours and forms that satiated my aesthetic senses.

"Caw, caw, caw," his call pulled me from my thoughts. Crow was perched on a branch on the other side of the pool, "Have you been here all this time?" I asked. "Click. Click," I took that for his 'Yes,' and smiled at the thought that he'd led me here.

Sitting on a stump with a crow for company, I felt safe and had the urge to chat, so I did. "In England, everyone thinks I'm odd 'cos I don't really like boy's things." Crow didn't ruffle a feather at my confession, so I continued, "Do you know Lofty, he's my great Uncle Micky?"

"Click, click," he answered.

I sat upright, "You do! Right, he talks to someone who isn't there. If they saw me talking to you in England, they'd probably put me in a Mental Hospital. But Lofty swears and argues all the time with someone who isn't there, and no one, not even Granny, bats an eye lid." I smiled, "You know summat Crow, it's easier being odd in Ireland."

But my reticence was never far away; I knew I wouldn't give full reign to my oddness, "I'm not gonna tell anyone about you, crow. I'll keep our friendship secret. You alright with that?"

"Click. Click."

His, 'Yes,' made me laugh aloud, "I can't believe I'm sitting here, learning to talk crow, with a crow."

When my mirth subsided, I turned serious, "Lofty told me about

you, or at least I think you're the crow he's talking about." My heart fluttered; I took a breath and asked, "Are you tall-man's friend?"

My heart began to beat a little faster – "Click. Click." I shot up, "Is he here, in the woods, with us?"

My heart turned up its tempo – "Click. Click."

"Show me where he is."

And now my heart raced – Crow remained silent, his eyes stilled, head tilted to the side as if listening to something.

I listened with him while watching for any movement or shadow amongst the trees that surrounded us.

My focus returned to crow. His head retreated into his body; wings hugged him tightly. It was as though he was fearful and priming himself for fight or flight.

Instinctively, my body language matched his, my shoulders drew in, I hunched a little as though I were protecting myself from some impending catastrophe.

And it came – a sonic THUD that forced me to the floor and crow to the sky. Crow soared, his squawking screams alerting his comrades of the shot that shattered our woodland idyll.

......

I was one of my school's fastest runners, but sprinting on an open sports field was a doddle. Running through woodland with its myriad obstacles wasn' t. My right shoulder clipped a tree, and I shot backwards, landing with a crunch into beds of bracken and nettles.

My bare legs took the brunt of the nettles, but their sting was nothing compared to the thought of a bullet in my back – I jumped back

up and continued my run.

The cobbles of the lane came into view, I increased my sprint. But an abject terror tore into me at the blasting thud of another shot, and I dove to dodge a bullet. My prostrate body skimmed the manure-soaked lane, drenching me in a cocktail of pee-diluted cow pooh.

There was no time for my city sensitivities; I launched back onto my feet to resume my flight

Reaching the end of the sodden lane, I began to shout for my protector, my real-life guardian angel, my sister – "MARIA. MARIA. MARIA!"

I stopped in the farmyard and looked around at the array of buildings that surrounded the concrete square. All was quiet, seemingly empty, yet I was full of fear – "MARIA – someone's trying to shoot me!" I shouted.

After what seemed an age, Maria appeared from a stone building. She stopped, stared at me, "You're covered in cow pooh," her face repulsed.

"I know, I had to dive in it to dodge a bullet," I explained.

She lowered her head, and to my horror, her shoulders began to shake, "Why are you crying, is someone trying to kill us?" I implored, tremors running through my small body.

Maria lifted her head – she was laughing.

Confusion stopped my quaking, "What's funny?" I asked.

She shook her head, "You watch too many of them horrible films, Gerard." She moved closer but was mindful not to touch me, "The farm man fired a few blanks to scare the crows, that's what you heard..."

...a third blast caused us both to yelp and squat defensively.

"There's no quiet way to stun a cow; the slaughterer didn't mean to frecken yiz." A young man stood by an open door. He looked me up and down, "You're soaked in shite; you've surely been christened by the country young fella," he said, turning back into the slaughterhouse.

I looked up onto the roof of the byre and was saddened to see no Crow.

Maria's hand tugged on mine, and still looking up at the byre, I allowed her to lead me blindly. When I looked forward, I froze – a crimson river of fresh blood flowed from the slaughterhouse – and Maria was leading me into this horror.