The worms violently fling away from the twig as you shake it in the air. The twig is naked in terms of worm coverings, and you hurry back to your cave with the tree part in your mouth.
When you arrive, the tiny baby bird still has a rock on it.
And it is not moving.
It does not look good. You set the twig on the ground and approach the baby bird. You sniff at it and poke it. Nothing. This baby bird is no longer with you. Or anybody. It is gone.
You choose to…