The crow stared at the house. It had weird eyes. Crow eyes. It only stared, without moving. I wondered if it saw me. I thought that would be scary. To be watched by a crow. For those odd eyes to stare at me when I wasn’t even sure of it. Not know what was behind them. What intention lay on top of that roof. What crime was playing in that tiny mind. But that was silly. Crows don’t plan to steal or kill or any of that. If they stare, it could be out of mere curiosity, couldn’t it? Or even fear? Fear of what I intended to do. Of why I stared at him. Whether I stared at him. What lay behind the eyes down here. What plan I had. Killing, or stealing, or perhaps only curiosity. Or even fear. Fear of what lay behind those eyes up there, what plan they had, what intention.