Cursed

To stay safe and free is a constant battle. Wherever I land, wherever I hide, human hands plunge into reeds, rushes, and bushes - thorns or not. To smear pond weed and carrion blood on my golden feathers is of little use - the slightest glint during daylight hours and the hunt starts all over again. Once, I wished treasure-hunting would fall out of fashion, but I fear it never will.

Now, I pray for meteor showers to flood the world with precious metals, to render my plumage as worthless as chocolate coins. Only then may I live in peace and obscurity.