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.”
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