The finch is still breathing, although I don't think it'll be for much longer. Poor little bird! Today was the first time I got a decent look at his injury, and...let's just say I won't be posting any pictures. I am astounded that he's lived this long.
I thought about taking him outside tonight to let some critter kill him swiftly, because he's got to be in serious pain. But then I thought, 'well, it's too late for that, let him stay where he's safe and has food and water.' So I am.
I was going to be hysterical about it and sleep on the couch tonight so I wouldn't have to move his cage. Every morning I put his cage on my bed so he can see out the window and get some (indirect, not too hot) sunshine. But I went ahead and moved him back to the dresser so I can sleep in my bed tonight. There's no need to be silly.
I'm probably coming across as awfully callous, but I've been through this too often with hurt birds to get emotionally invested. If it was Jekyll, I'd be miserable. Then again, if it was Jekyll, I'd have taken him to the vet. Wild birds don't get a vet trip, they just get a chance to heal in a safe place.
Now I have to go back to writing Shadow Trail, which is 35,000 words long and nearing Act 3 and the big finale. I'm not going to have enough plot to make it to 60,000 words as I'd planned. But if I can make it to 50,000 I think it'll be okay for a younger YA.