This is my entry for this month’s IndieWeb Carnival, hosted by Sophia, on the topic of “Second person birds”.

The elders tell me you’ve been here for generations. They say you’ve never migrated, but you’ve been known to disappear for moons on end. They call you “Big Blue”, even though there’s been a lot of red in your coat lately. It is fur, isn’t it? I’m amazed how quickly it can change colours.

They’ve been watching you. I’ve been watching you. You spend your suns in one nest with other Walkers, and you spend your moons in another nest with what appears to be your mate. A Walker as big as you shouldn’t fear any predators, but you don’t seem to like wandering outside of your nests for very long.

I know that Walkers can’t fly. I know you’d like too, otherwise, why you have some sort of agreement with those humongous beakless birds that we’re all afraid of? I’ve never seen you in one of those fuming boxes that make so much noise we can’t hear ourselves talk. Sometimes, you use one of those wonderful contraptions with round legs that have been more and more popular with your kind. We like those — they’re shiny and colourful.

I couldn’t believe what Red Tip told me the other day. Is it true that you’ve been talking with the ferocious Grey? Last year, it killed two Murmurers and five Dumb Peepers. It even dared to lunge at one of us, but the old Green Eye fought back so hard that Grey decamped with its tail between its legs. It seems tamer this year, maybe because he has Orange to contend with.

But that’s no excuse. How could you, of all Walkers, conspire with our worst enemy? You that left tallow and sunflower seeds at the edge of your nest when there was an ice storm? You that removed the brambles that prevented us from monitoring our territory from the top of your leafless tree? You that seem to be pleased when we fly the Stealers out of your corner of the forest?

I was ready to be mad at you, but then, Red Tip told me to peer inside of the nests of other members of your murder. They all have Furry Biters! Here was Grey sleeping in front of one of your portable sunlights. Here was Orange washing itself. Here were the wise Black and the mischievous White plotting the assassination of a potted plant. How peaceful they seemed.

The Walkers keep Furry Biters as companions, Red Tip explained, and mostly prevent them from going outside. Without Walkers, Furry Biters would be free to roam the land and kill us in droves. You weren’t conspiring, you were taming the beast! But then, i’ve seen you spook Tiny Squeekers when they get too close to your nest. You are full of contradictions, aren’t you?

I know that you eat enough to leave us plenty of remains. (Thanks, i guess?) But i’ve never seen you hunt, and the shrubs you so carefully tend couldn’t support you and your mate, could they? I’ve tasted the orange fruit that you dropped once, and it was sickly sweet. Your kind seems to like sweet things. I prefer the earthiness of Wigglers and the twang of unripe seeds.

You seem more friend than foe, but i’ve been advised to keep my distance. So i’m here, watching you coming and going, never far and never long, every sun and every moon. Why? I hope to find out. I’ll keep watching.