'If it carries on like this, the river will be totally blocked!' The old man shouted.

The little boy and the old man were standing together by the river.

The giant oak, which had always seemed so infinitely strong to Billy, had fallen victim to the storm during the night. They were quiet for a while, the little boy and the old man, respectfully watching the water roaring around the collosal trunk, so powerful that most of the smaller branches had already been stripped away. The water level was rising rapidly as casualties of the storm drifted up against it.

'What?' The little boy could not hear a thing. He was hypnotised by the swirling waters and the colours the sound threw up into the night. Bright blues, greens and yellows, twisting and jumping with the splashing waves. 'I can't hear you!' he shouted, pointing to his ear and shaking his head. The old man nodded and shrugged, smiling. He patted Billy on the back and leaned closer.

'I'm going to fetch my chainsaw!' he shouted, making a sawing motion, 'Stay here! Don't get any closer!' Billy watched the grey hair disappear over the ridge and turned back to enjoy the colours in the water. There was much to fascinate him there: the way the fast-moving liquid formed into solid-looking ridges like shimmering sand dunes; a little whirlpool in the crook of one of the branches; the enormity of the noise. He could almost feel himself spiralling into this perfect circle, such clarity admidst the chaos.

The Shadow was there too, lingering around the branches like a dark predator waiting to strike. The little boy sensed it watching him, but when he tried to focus, it shrank and slithered behind the rubbish. A fluttering caught his eye, and he realised one of the branches far out into the river concealed a dense little mess of twigs and leaves, out of which he could see three tiny beaks protruding.

'Come on boy! Don't just stand there, do something!'

Startled, he looked around frantically.

'Oh yes,' the high-pitched voice continued sarcastically. 'Stand there like an idiot while the children are all dying!' The words seemed to pierce the noise of the river and awaken sharp jagged shafts of purple light spearing through the air.

An agitated blackbird fluttered down and settled on the upturned roots of the tree, calling out shrilly. Suddenly the bird turned to look him straight in the eye and said in a different sort of voice, a deeper and more worldly voice, 'We thought you would be different, but it looks like you're just the same.'

He stared back, astonished.

'The same as what?'

'Everybody else.'

Billy paused for a moment. He was talking to a bird! He could remember the river and the tree and the nest - yes, that all happened - but not the bird. Not this. This was a dream.

'Who are you?' he asked.

'You know us, Billy.' The bird said with an affected sigh.

'I do?' Billy was quite sure he did not know any talking birds.

'Oh yes.'

'But you - by the river - you didn't talk!' The bird shrugged. At least that is how it seemed to Billy, though he had no idea how a bird could shrug. But he remembered the day clearly. The storm, the flood. The tree in the water. The things in the water.

The first day he had stopped time.

The day he died.

'I have no time for arguments, kid,' the bird said. 'My children are dying! You're the only one here. The only one who can save them, all the others have gone, gone, gone!' The bird was jumping up and down urgently, its voice getting shriller with each word.

'I should wait for the old man,' Billy protested, 'he'll know what to do.' The bird laughed, inasmuch as a bird could laugh. She jumped closer and he felt her disappointment envelop him like a thick, stuffy blanket.

'He cannot do what you can do,' she said quietly, gently. 'You said you would bring help. My children need you now.'

'But… I can't!'

'Of course you can! It's easy, just walk out there and pull them out! It's only a couple of feet! The tree is good and solid, you know that. Don't be a coward! Cowards always lose.'

Billy did not wish to be thought a coward. He began to climb the tree.

It was quite difficult to get through the tangled roots onto the thick, gnarled trunk. Brambles and nettles punished him severely for his audacity at trying to pass them. Even once he emerged, scratched, stung and bleeding onto the main body of the oak, it was so wide he cannot straddle it, and instead had to crawl out carefully on hands and knees to the first branch, about ten feet out from the bank. This branch was wider than the little boy himself and he rested up against it, to prepare for the journey ahead.

All but the biggest branches had been stripped away by the water, leaving a battered skeleton, twisted arms desperately reaching out in all directions for a rescue that would never come. Huge clumps of sticks and rubbish had formed between them, creating a noisy, leaking barrier against the raging torrent. None of it looked stable or safe. Billy began to crawl out to the next branch.

'That's right!' the bird called encouragingly, fluttering around his head. 'You're nearly there, my children are crying, please hurry!' He tried to ignore the incessant chattering, which somehow managed to pierce through the roar of the waves, as if the bird's voice was projecting directly into his mind.

'But... before - you didn't talk!' he protested again, still trying to dredge up the true memory. 'This tree, the river, yes - I remember - but you?'

'Hush boy,' the bird said impatiently. 'Move those leaves out the way now, okay good! Careful.... careful!' Billy grabbed a handful of twigs and pulled, freeing a large clump of debris that was ripped out of his hand, quickly disintegrating into the rushing water. He waited for the rubbish to clear, looking ahead again, trying to remember where the nest was. In some places the dam had built up so much, the pressure was sending long jets of water into the air. He could still hear the baby birds crying out above the noise.

'I can't see them!' he said. 'Where are they?'

'Just a little bit further, next branch, next branch!' Billy sighed and started to inch his way along the tree again. The roaring completely filled his senses now, aware of nothing but the next branch just ahead, just a couple of feet of wet wood in sharp focus within the dark wall of noise. The bird stayed at his shoulder, and Billy wondered if he was crawling to his doom. He wondered at how real his imagination could make things. Such a clear memory for a dream.

Once again he failed to find any sort of nest, and the bird called out, 'Next branch, next branch!' Two branches later, he found himself way out in the middle of the river, soaked up to the elbows with water pouring around him. Shallow enough not to be too strong, but the wood was wet and slippery. The high pitched screaming of the chicks, and desperate calls of their mother kept him focused on the task in hand, although his numb fingers were finding it more and more difficult to find secure places to hold him steady.

'There! There they are! You must hurry!'

'There's too much rubbish here,' Billy complained, hooking his leg around the nearest solid branch and reaching for the little nest. His fingers were a few inches short. 'I'll try to move these sticks, I don't think the water is pushing on them. Move back!' The bird jumped away, startled at the sudden change in the boy's manner. He was determined now, more in control, biting his lip as he maneuvered the sticks with both hands to grab the nest and pull it towards him.

'...nearly there...'

'Oh my G- BILLY!'

Billy froze. He was not sure if he really heard the old man's voice over the noise of the river, but turned his head cautiously to look behind him, while trying to maintain his tenuous grip on the small branch by his side. The old man was indeed back, chainsaw in hand, as promised. He had a coil of rope over his shoulder and was looking both furious and terrified.

'Get back here at once boy!' he shouted, more than a slight touch of panic in his voice. 'What the hell are you doing?!'

'There's a nest here!' Billy shouted back. 'The bird wants its babies! It said I can sa-'

'Watch out!'

The old man was waving. Shouting something. The blackbird, who had been anxiously trying to get at her young through the branches suddenly flew straight up into the air and started screaming.

There was a loud crack. A sudden sharp pain on the side of his skull. Billy used his last remnants of consciousness to seize the bird's nest and stuff it chicks, twigs and all into his jacket pocket.

The Shadow came out from behind the tree.