‘Remove your disguise,’ the owl said.

‘I can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because it was put on me by a spell.’ The Crow’s voice was acid. Its jewel-bright eye glinted. ‘I am actually on my way right now to get the spell removed and yet you have the nerve to bring me here by force and…’

‘Do you mean,’ one of the other owls asked curiously, ‘that you don’t actually want to be a bird?’

The Crow looked as though it would explode with wrath. ‘Good grief…! Why on earth would I WANT to be a bird! It’s a nightmare! All that pecking and hopping and not being able to pick things up properly! I can’t write! I can’t sit down and I can’t stand up. I haven’t had a proper bath for years. I have absolutely nothing to eat, not even worms. Goodness! A worm would be a banquet! My feathers are moth-eaten and my talons are made of wire. I HATE being a bird.’

There was a huge sensation of fluttering and whispering. If the birds had been cross before they were really angry now.

Seren glanced at Tomos. ‘He’s just making things worse.’

‘He usually does.’

‘And anyway,’ the Crow folded its wings and yelled above the uproar, ‘all the scientists tell us that birds have very little intelligence and I have PLENTY.’

Seren had never heard such an uproar.

‘We have to do something,’ Tomos hissed, ‘or they’ll peck him to bits!’

Seren nodded.

She stood up. ‘Excuse me,’ she said.

The uproar continued.

‘EXCUSE ME!’

The Snowy Owl blinked at her. Then it held up a wing.

Slowly the noise died down. All the birds stared at Seren.

‘Is that a chick?’ someone asked.

The owl glared at the Crow. ‘Is that one of your chicks?’

‘Dear me, no.’ The Crow frowned at her. ‘I just look after it. Her.’

‘It’s someone else’s, then? A cuckoo’s?’ All the birds turned and glared resentfully at a large brown bird on a branch all by itself. The cuckoo shrugged.

‘I can talk, you know,’ Seren said. ‘Look, you’ve called witnesses against him, so it’s only right that he can call some on his side. So I’m a witness. And I can tell you that he isn’t a real bird or even pretending to be, so…’

‘Have you actually seen him in human form?’ a magpie snapped.

‘Well … no, but…’

‘He’s just told you some story then. Is he usually truthful?’

Seren squirmed. ‘Well … no … that is…’ She caught the Crow’s eye. ‘But you can clearly see he isn’t real. He’s all moth-eaten. And there’s that key. Sticking out of his back. Do you see it?’

All the birds nodded.

‘Well, that winds him up. And if it isn’t wound he runs out of clockwork.’ She winked at the Crow. ‘He sort of goes to sleep.’

The Crow was staring at her.

She winked again, urgently. ‘It’s happening now. See?’

Suddenly the Crow understood. It closed its eyes, and its movements got slower and slower until it was perfectly still. Then it fell over and lay on the ground.