The Heartwood little bird

He leans to his left; his shoulder collides with the skeletal remains of a tree. Once sturdy, yet now it groans and crumbles underneath the yearling’s touch, as if it would collapse if he rest a hair more.
The ruddy boy twists his muzzle, about to attempt plucking the annoyance from his paw when he hears the hushed footfalls. He freezes. Jaw relaxing back to its place as he tenderly places the paw towards the ground. His champagne eyes eventually stare off, finding the shadowed figure.
Eerie in the way it makes his spine tingle. The cogs in his mind tick into motion. Something about this is familiar in a way he doesn’t like.
It clicks when he hears her voice.
Thought you never wanted to help me again. His lips peel back, curling upwards at the corners.