Timothy Crow looked down upon the murder gathered before him. Since being elected leader of the murder he had taken the job on in as serious a manner as he could. And Timothy was very good at being serious.
Around him was the all too familiar “farckk, farckk” of the assembled crows.
He called them to order in his now perfected imperious farckk.
“There is a serious matter to be discussed,” he announced, looking down his beak at them all. “Jonathon Crow, the leader of our most accomplished “Farckking Choir has been murdered.”
The effect was immediate among the murder below him but it wasn’t what he was expecting. Where he was planning on a display of indignation, shock and horror, he witnessed mirth in the only way crows know how.
There came to his ears the collective ‘farckking’ of three hundred crows all shouting over the top of each other as they rolled on the ground.
Timothy was not impressed and called on them to stop farckking.
When silence was resumed he quickly reminded them that there was an obligation on each crow to discover who it was that murdered Jonathon Crow.
Was it the farmer, the butcher, the baker or one of their own?
There was one-thing crows were good at and that was organising committees. They had a committee for everything. Now they’d have one to investigate Jonathon’s murder.
A show of wings was called for and a committee selected which was universally farckked by all.
Timothy gave a parting farckk as he took his leave and the committee gathered to consider their strategy.