Winter Moon

sixteen miles of Montana countryside, the crow tracked him from on high. He could keep it in view either by leaning forward over the wheel to peer through the upper part of the windshield or simply by looking out his side window, depending on the position from which the creature chose to monitor him. Sometimes it flew parallel to the Cherokee, keeping pace, and sometimes it rocketed ahead so far that it became only a speck, nearly vanished into the clouds, only to double back and take up a parallel course once more. It was with him all the way home.
        While Eduardo ate dinner, the bird perched on the exterior stool of the window in the north wall of the kitchen, where he had first seen one of the sentinel squirrels. When he got up from his meal to raise the bottom half of the window, the crow scrammed, as the squirrel had.
        He left the window open while he finished dinner. A refreshing breeze skimmed in off the twilight meadows. Before Eduardo had eaten his last bite, the crow returned..The bird remained in the open window while Eduardo washed the dishes, dried them, and put them away. It followed his every move with its bright black eyes.
        He got another beer from the refrigerator and returned to the table.
        He settled in a different chair from the one in which he'd sat before, closer to the crow. Only an arm's length separated them.
        "What do you want?" he asked, surprised that he didn't feel at all foolish talking to a damned bird.
        Of course, he wasn't talking to the bird. He was addressing whatever controlled the bird. The traveler.
        "Do you just want to watch me?" he asked.
        The bird stared.
        "Would you like to communicate?"
        The bird lifted one wing, tucked its head underneath, and pecked at its feathers as if plucking out lice.
        After another swallow of beer, Eduardo said, "Or would you like to control me the way you do these animals?"
        The crow shifted back and forth from foot to foot, shook itself, cocked its head to peer at him with one eye.
        "You can act like a damned bird all you want, but I know that's not what you are, not all you are."
        The crow grew still again.
        Beyond the window, twilight had given way to night.
        "Can you control me? Maybe you're limited to simpler creatures, less complex neurological systems."
        Black eyes glittering. Sharp orange beak parted slightly.
        "Or maybe you're learning the ecology here, the flora and fauna, figuring out how it works in this place, honing your skills. Hmmm?
        Maybe you're working your way up to me. Is that it?"
        Watching.
        "I know there's nothing of you in the bird, nothing physical. Just like you weren't in the raccoons. An autopsy established that much.
        Thought you might have to insert something into an animal to control it, something electronic, I don't know, maybe even something biological. Thought maybe there were a lot of you out in the woods, a hive, a nest, and maybe one of you actually had to enter an animal to control it. Half expected Potter would find some strange slug living.in the raccoon's brain, some damned centipede thing hooked to its spine. A seed, an unearthly-looking spider, something. But you don't work that way, huh?"
        He took a swallow of Corona.
        "Ahhh. Tastes good."
        He held the beer out to the crow.
        It stared at him over the top of the bottle.
        "Teetotaler, huh? I keep learning things about you. We're an inquisitive bunch, we human beings. We learn fast and we're good at applying what we learn, good at meeting challenges. Does that worry you any?"
        The crow raised its tail feather and crapped.
        "Was that a comment," Eduardo wondered, "or just part of doing a good bird imitation?"
        The sharp beak opened and closed, opened and closed, but no sound issued from the bird.
        "Somehow you control these animals from a distance. Telepathy, something like that? From quite a distance, in the case of this bird.
        Sixteen miles into Eagle's Roost. Well, maybe fourteen miles as the crow flies."
        If the traveler knew that Eduardo had made a lame pun, it gave no indication through the bird.
        "Pretty clever, whether it's telepathy or something else. But it sure as hell takes a toll on the subject, doesn't it? You're getting better, though, learning the limitations of the local