Trevor started jogging, the best a six year-old could. He was pretty coordinated for a six year-old. He had not learned how to kill anything, yet, except for bugs and insects and if he was on extremely good behavior under individual moderation, he was allowed to kill some animal such as the crow. The Crow was the last animal he had killed. He had trouble bringing it back to life, and disjointing the soul from the bird was very painful the last several attempts. To be honest, he preferred it dead, and with that said, it was a wise decision to wait until he was a tad bit older to start dissecting souls from animals so large. 

The crow's foot was no longer in Trevor's mouth, but in his arms. He cradled it as he jogged around the gym. He was excited for being able to preserve it, but he knew one day he would be able to bring it to life in a blink of an eye and kill it just as easily. His crow meant the world to him, in more ways than one.