The murder of crows

There was once a murder of crows.
They were all black, save for the one.
This is the story of that white crow.
That it had pearl white feathers made it exotic. It was a young crow and it stood out among its peers.
Somehow the white crow imagined it to be special. A few black crows around the white crow too starting feeling the same.
Nobody knows what fed what but soon all the young crows started looking at the white crow as a potential leader. The white crow too thought so.
And so one day, the white crow, accompanied by all its supporters went to the wise old crow to stake a claim to be the leader of all crows.
The wise old crow mostly never spoke. But because the white crow was persistent, tried explaining:”Listen, we crows live in a free commune. We dont need to identify someone as a leader. Every one is free to do as they please. But when we gather, we just try to be respectful to one another. So why do we need to identify you as the leader?
Destiny,” the white crow said. “Look at my feathers. I am pearly white in a place where everyone around me is dark black. I am the purest one here and hence it is my right.
The wise old crow asked: “What is to say black is not as pure as white”.
The white crow would have none of that. “This is my divine right. I can feel it.
The wise crow knew now that the white crow could not be reasoned.
So be it. You be the leader,” the wise old crow said. “But one condition. You should do such an act of miracle to prove you are above the ordinary.
Aaah. That is simple,” the white crow said. “I will fly above all else, and go near the Sun and come right back. Then you will know that I am no ordinary crow.
The white crow’s followers were flabbergasted. “Wow. Spoken like a true leader,” they chorused. “What a bold move.
Some of the black crows decided to join the white crow in its miraculous journey.
A few days later, the wise old crow uncharacteristically shed a few tears.