Wentworth was rescued as a small chick by a soft and sweet grandmother on a farm located in the cold north east. As other birds flew south for the winter, Wentworth stayed in the cozy cabin with his parents. In the mornings they would feed him oats, and in the evenings he’d peck at a combination of corn kernels and the occasional fruit fly. One evening, the old lady sung him his nightly melody before they closed their eyes. Wentworth slowly fell asleep as the snow settled on the windowsill. The next dreadful morning, he noticed that the fire was not lit, tea was not being made, and the couples eyes had not opened. Wentworth lost the loves of his life and has since been nothing but a frigid bird that strikes terror into the living beings that find themselves within his gaze.
Artwork by Ink Party