titmouse knows best

Though it had thrown his bird companion into conniptions Armando had succeeded in catching and killing a large crow and her chicks. He had been so hungry he'd eaten both feather and bone alike as he plowed through the nest. The babies were surprisingly fatty and after finishing the last one Armando had grown queasy; his empty stomach overwhelmed by the large and greasy meal. Unable to continue he'd reclined on the branch for a good long while staring down the intact mother crow, trying to will himself to eat it too. When at last he'd admitted defeat Armando was left with the task of determining what to do with the rest of his food. This was an unusual problem for him. Even in times of plenty he'd chosen his targets with care and thus rarely had leftovers.

In the end he'd decided to do what dogs did. They buried their food, right? He'd do the same. It wasn't like there was anyone around anyway so it was just a simple precaution. The cold would keep it fresh and the distance between his sleeping place and it would give him some amount of personal security in case someone did come snooping around.

He dug a shallow cache just deep enough to make his belly level with the ground if he stood inside it. The crow was wrapped with its head to its chest and its wings around it like a shroud, and then it was buried without ceremony. Once that was done Armando, still queasy, managed to worm his way back up into the oak. There he collapsed on a limb overlooking the cache. His paws hung limply from it and he pinched his eyes shut, trying his hardest not to throw up. Aside from the occasional too-juicy burp he was silent.

Through all of this his titmouse simply watched with obvious disdain. She was of the opinion that he was deserving of the bellyache and though she had yet to admit it out loud she was secretly hoping that in a barfing fit he'd fall from the tree thus getting his just desserts.

WC: 354