Burning Finch lifted his head from where it rested on the cold stone, his ears swiveling forward. He couldn't see the sun setting, but the sudden chill in the air told him it was time. His breath frosted the air as he huffed, heaving himself off the ground and too his paws. He was much too old to be wandering around in the cold like this, but the birds didn't care how cold it was. He had a job to do.
He made his way down the rocky cliffside with ease, only pausing to avoid a patch of slick ice. He had lived on those mountainous outskirts for as long as he could remember, and his lack of vision rarely ever slowed him down. Leaping downwards confidently, his aching paws landed in a fresh mound of soft snow. The cold prickled at his pads, and he shook a clump from his fur before continuing his journey. He had much work to do tonight, and little time.
At the bottom of the cliff lay his trusty lantern, unpleasantly warm to the touch and bright enough the damage the vision of anyone unlucky enough to look directly at it. The bright light worked in his favor on these nights, and was one of his most trusted tools. Flickering softly, the flame illuminated the darkening evening around him, sending shadows dancing along the nearby rocks. The hot glow never seemed to burn out, but Finch knew better than to question the gift. He grabbed hold of the metal top and lifted it, wrapping its chains around his body. The less noise he made going in, the better. Finch turned to the east, as he did every night, and began the long trek down to the gorge.
The screeches were the first noises that reached his sensitive ears. Grating cawing came from down below, drowning out all other noises around, peircing his ear drums. Standing on the main precipice overhanging the gorge, Finch carefully felt around with his forepaws. His paw pressed against rough burlap, close to the edge, and he smoothly swept the sack towards him. Like every night, it was filled to the brim with fresh prey, prepared by the other members of The Nest. The warm scents of rabbit, mouse, and shrew hit his nose as he sniffed the bag. Finch grabbed the corner of the sack, holding it awkwardly with the lantern, before beginning his descent.
Ice coated the pointy rocks, creating a treacherous path down to the gorge. Finch moved slowly but assuredly, his bag dragging along the ground beside him and his lantern lighting the way. He kept his claws out, hooking them into small holes and divots in the rocks to lessen the risk of falling.
It took him a few minutes to reach the bottom, longer than it normally did. The cold was throwing him off, masking the scents he usually guided by, the ice making his route much more perilous that it usually was. Finch's paws eventually touched down from the rocks, the earthy grit of the ground rubbing at his paw pads. The snow never reached down here, hidden away from the sky. That didn't matter to Finch, however. He still had work to do.
He dropped the sack for a moment, ignoring the loud screeches echoing on all sides. It only sounded like they were close. He was safe here. Using his paws, deft from years of practice, Finch turned the bag so the bottom was facing behind him. A large hole had been torn in one of the corners, making his job much easier. After making sure he still had his lantern and sack safely secured, Finch turned towards the source of the din, and began to walk once more.
The scrapping of sharp talons on stone. Pointed beaks snapping shut. Beady eyes blinking in the darkness. Feathers ruffling angrily. And the incessant cawing. All sounds that filled Finch's ears as he padded on, deeper into the gorge. Sensitive to the light, the huge birds lived here during the days, resting. Once the sun set they would leave, hungry, for their evening hunt, stealing away any cat unlucky enough to be out.
Finch moved forward steadily, dragging the sack behind him. It dropped peices of prey onto the ground behind him, slipping out of the old hole, creating a trail through the gorge. He flattened his ears against his skull, attempting to block out the overwhelming cacophony of the birds fighting over their meal. This was the only way to keep his family safe, and Finch knew it.
Finch stopped suddenly, aware of a large, looming, presence in front of him. One of the birds had gotten a bit too confident, and Finch froze as he felt a heavy beak whistle by his face. The huge beak clicked softly, running over his ear and down his neck, slowly opening and closing against his skin, as if tasting him. It pulled back with a rush of air before returning, snapping close to his empty eye sockets. Those dreaded birds always went for the eyes first. Luckily for Finch, this one would be left disappointed.
"Get back!" Finch growled gruffly, rearing his head back. The lantern swung with it, towards the birds head, its warm light bouncing off of the cramped cave walls. Finch heard a screech of outrage as the offending bird was momentarily blinded, flapping backwards to safety. He turned and ran as fast as he could, dragging his lamp and his now empty bag with him, only slowing when he reached the exit. Scrambling back up the rocks, Finch deposited the sack back where it came from. The hunters would return the next afternoon and refill it for him, so he could once again feed the birds.
Finch made his way back to his home slowly, tail dragging along the ground. He knew how important his job was, but that didn't mean he had to like it. He was the first line of defense against the deadly birds, feeding them each evening to keep them full and his family safe from their deadly claws. They had claimed too many lives already, and Finch wasn't willing to let them have any more. His lantern and his lack of eyes work together to protect him from the birds, sending them fleeing from his light. He would continue this task, every single evening, until he physically couldn't take another step.
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