The Robin hopped from foot to foot.
Oooooooooh, he just really, really REALLY wanted some ribena. Hot ribena preferably, but any would do right now.
The problem was he’d given up his addiction for lent.
He looked down at his red plumage and threw out his wings in horror. He was sure his feathers were losing their colour.
Right that’s it, he decided. Either he’d have to give in or he’d lose his right to be a robin. Who’d ever heard of a robin without a red chest?
He hopped erratically closer to the berry bush he’d been perched in front of for the last two days. He shuffled briefly from foot to foot and in a flurry of pent up tension, thrust himself up into the thorny branches. He found the fattest, juiciest berry and took it in his pointed beak. Tossing his little head from side to side he attempted to pluck the berry from its branch.
The berry wasn’t so down with this. So put up a fight for as long as possible. The other soundless berries could only watch in horror as their bestie was stolen away, they struggled in the breeze to reach him, but there was nothing they could do, so were left to watch helplessly as the blood of their brother spilled through his cheeks and the robin was finally granted his wish. They scorned him as he flew away into the late afternoon sky.
The Robin felt triumphant, soaring through the clouds with his treasured prize, the juices already trickling across his tongue down to his aching stomach.
The Berry felt smug. For he was a poison Berry.