Battlefield Crows: High Fantasy

The crows circled over the battlefield, veering over soldiers dead or wounded. The ones who were only wounded would shout when the crows got too close, and the crows would flap their wings and hop to the next unprotesting body. They had patience. They had time. They knew that soon the food would stop making noises at them. They were not particularly worried that the food would try to hurt them...it hardly had strength to wave its hand, much less pick up a rock and throw it. The scent of incense wound upward into the sky from the monks' braziers as they moved in a column of solemnly chanting men robed in black. He hid among the dead, one small boy beneath a mound of corpses. If the monks found him, his fate would not be as gentle as the soldiers' had been. A crow swooped close.

Status: Written as "The Unkindness of Ravens."