The Pilot and the Birds
Captain Elias had been stranded in the vast, icy wilderness for days. His small cargo plane had gone down in an unexpected storm, leaving him as the sole survivor. His radio was broken, his supplies dwindling, and the cold gnawed at his bones. But what truly unsettled him were the birds.
A flock of black-feathered ravens had been circling him since the crash. No matter where he walked, they followed, perching on nearby trees, watching him with eerie patience. He yelled at them, waved his arms—nothing scared them away.
At first, he thought they were waiting for him to die. But as the days passed, he noticed something odd. Whenever he collapsed from exhaustion, the birds would land near him, cawing insistently. When he tried to follow their gaze, they always pointed toward a distant hill.
One bitter morning, too weak to resist anymore, he decided to follow them. Stumbling through the snow, he climbed the ridge they had been fixated on. And then he saw it—wreckage. Another crashed plane, half-buried in the ice.
Inside, frozen and lifeless, were the remains of a pilot. His uniform was tattered, but Elias could still make out the emblem—a symbol matching his own. And clutched in the man’s frozen hands was a photograph of his family.
The realization hit Elias like a punch to the gut. The birds weren’t following him. They had been waiting for him—waiting for someone to find the lost soul they had been guarding all this time.
Overcome with emotion, Elias sank to his knees, tears freezing against his cheeks. He whispered a quiet promise to the fallen pilot.
“I’ll bring you home.”
As if understanding, the birds finally took flight, soaring toward the rising sun.
