Have you ever felt like everyone knows
the script but you?
“My name is Prudeth,” she happily fluffed her feathers in greeting. “I’m sorry for intruding on your conversation, but I was wondering who you were talking about.”
“This here’s Jacob,” the one with the oddly colored beak spoke gruffly. “That’s Paulie, and I’m Conner.”
Prudeth frowned. Conner spoke as if he were answering her question, and looked to her for the next segment of conversation. It was as if everyone else knew the script of the conversation that should be taking place and ignored all deviations as if they did not exist.
“I’m pleased to meet you,” she tried to be polite. “Who were you talking about?”
“We are the last survivors of the Howard Christy Flying School,” Conner thrust his chest forward, preening.
“I thought we agreed to call it the Howard Christy Flyers,” the one named Jacob poked Conner’s wing feather.
“I didn’t agree to that name,” Paulie stuck his beak under his wing, picking at something Prudeth couldn’t see.
This started an argument between the three of them that Prudeth heard only portions of. They hadn’t answered her questions, but Prudeth was smart enough to have figured out that they were talking about Howard Christy Crow. She’d gotten an answer to her question, but it was still as if they had never heard her ask it. It wasn’t important that she could guess who they were talking about as much as it was important that they hear what she asked. She had decided to work on her communications skills and these crows were a good place to start.