A bounty on their tails

I made a stupid error of omission yesterday. I had wandered across the road and down through the copse that leads to my embryonic flightpond, intending to check a tunnel trap, when a black shape glided from an oak and set up a devil of a din. Another crow mysteriously appeared and, protesting in violent corvine language, the pair circled above me, frequently swooping within range.

I quickly saw the cause of their anguish. A youngster, a huddle of drooping black feathers, was half-flapping, half-flying in a silver birch. The parents, all credit to their courage, were determined to see me off and must have