White Tail was always first to the table. Checking first for watching eyes, she would descend graceful and fearless remaining only until she had eaten enough to provide the energy needed for the day. Safe in the knowledge that none had challenged her, the others followed. None were brave enough to enter alone as White Tail had, preferring to stay with their chosen crowd, dipping in and out, disappearing at the slightest sound or movement – there is safety in numbers, they had heard.
At night they would speak of White Tail’s bravery and share tales of how she had valiantly challenged and fought off many adversaries to ensure that she and others could eat from that table.
Grey Tail had read many stories of those such as White Tail. Not having been raised with her ways, he asked an elder who was familiar with her if introductions could be made. White Tail welcomed Grey Tail to the clan and began teaching him the ways – as she had with all others seeking to be first to the table.
Grey Tail was clever – some say he was as crafty as the urban fox. By mimicking and mirroring White Tail he quickly gained the trust of other clan members and outside associates of White Tail. This pleased White Tail, particularly as she was in poor health – the Raven spirit visited her most evenings now, so she knew her time left on this earth was not long – so the time had come for Grey Tail to fly.
Grey Tail could hardly contain his excitement – he had successfully gained White Tail’s trust and was to be first to the table – he would be the greatest leader of all times, all would bow to his superior knowledge and skills, suitors would fall at his feet and as first to the table he would have the power to decide who could or could not sup there. He would have his place in the books of lore.
Grey Tail slept little that night. Rising at dawn he instructed clan members to follow him to the table reminding them that they must not descend for their share of the feast until he himself was sated. The spoils were plentiful and Grey Tail gorged until his belly was full and an arms of Morpheus like stupor had embraced him. As he lay there, cries of warning began filtering slowly through his stupor, but sated to a state of inaction he was slow to scan the skies for any danger. The Eagle’s descent and dispatch was as swift as it was clean leaving only, as if by way of warning, one grey tail feather in its wake.