The Flock of Three

Recognition is not proof of worth. It is proof of visibility. And visibility, in the Kingdom, is not neutral

There was, and there was not, a time when the Raven worked deep in the center of the Kingdom, when her wings were heavy with responsibility, but her voice still carried weight.

She trained others then, three young birds, bright and attentive, each with a different way of navigating the Kingdom’s tangled air.

One was a swift Starling, sharp-eyed and quick, always one step ahead.
Another was a Falcon, graceful, efficient, gifted at simplifying even the most complex systems.
The third was a Finch, quiet, precise, perceptive in ways that required no grand gestures.

The Raven mentored them all, not by molding them to her own flightpath, but by helping them learn their own. She made space for their questions. She taught them how to see what the Kingdom preferred they overlook.

Together, they redesigned safety practices. They uncovered flaws in legacy systems. They stopped three minor crises before they ever reached leadership’s attention.

When the time came for recognition, the Kingdom responded as it often did.

The Starling was praised for “innovation” and promoted.
The Falcon was praised for “speed and clarity” and promoted.
And the Finch, whose analysis had made both outcomes possible, was passed over.

No feedback. No discussion. Just silence.

“She did everything right,” the Raven whispered to herself. “And she will be told it wasn’t enough.”

The Finch said nothing, but her feathers dulled. Her song grew faint.

The Raven wanted to scream. Instead, she gathered the three of them in the canopy.

She didn’t apologize for the Kingdom. She didn’t make excuses.
But she did tell the Finch the truth: Your brilliance is not less real because it went unrecognized.

She told the others, too: Never let praise distort your memory of how this came to be. Recognition is not proof of worth. It is proof of visibility. And visibility, in the Kingdom, is not neutral.

Years later, the Raven flew past a grove where she had once trained them. There, in the branches, were three nests. The Finch had built one with thoughtful complexity, shaded but open. She had mentored others in turn.

The Raven landed nearby, unseen, and watched as another bird, small, tentative, was welcomed into that canopy.

Then she flew on.

© 2025 Sarah Dooley. Story and images by the author. All rights reserved.