A tree. A branch. A bird. A gut full of berries.

Howard could feel the urges in the little finch hidden in the leaves of the old maple. In the background were the ever-present “find food” and “be ready to get away”. Building on top was the sense that, soon, it would have to empty its bowels. Not yet, but soon.

Under the tree, a young couple sat nuzzling. Howard could feel their urges too, but they churned in his gut, and he pushed them out of his awareness. He really didn’t want to think about what was going on between the pair. Stacey could never be his girlfriend, and Roger was just a pig.

Instead, he focused on the finch. This little bird, perched on a twig, only needed to hop a little to the left, and it was restless anyway. Without even trying, the bird gave a sharp tweet and hopped further up the branch.

With another thought, Howard suggested the bird succumb to its other urge. With another tweet, the payload was released, and the little bird flew off, lighter and happier, and looking for more berries.

Down below, Roger began to swear. Howard was pleased to see that Stacey’s grimace seemed to be directed more at Roger’s reaction than the bird crap on his forearm. Howard turned away to hide his growing grin.

Theresa would not have been impressed with this “abuse” of his powers. Right then, Howard didn’t care.