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Moth
“Why? Did you have a vision, just then? Was it…”
Moth stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the bird’s body. He picked it up and cradled it to his chest, brushing its head feathers with his fingers. The poor thing was still warm.
…
Ellis
“I’m sorry,” Ellis said softly. He lifted a hand as if to touch the bird, then let it fall back to his side. “Maybe it got stuck in the reeds.” It was a flimsy explanation, but he didn’t know what else to say.
Any paint can be finger paint if you don't care enough
I have a theory
I’m scared to ask because I don’t want you to be right
Any paint can be finger paint if you don't care enough