Potent.

They were building a nest. The red one would keep going back and forth looking for the precious pieces of rubbish that would make their nest. The blue one would pretend to be sick and escape the work. Red was healthy, so it didn't matter much to it. It was capable enough to build the nest by itself, or at least it thought so. Blue was quite encouraging of red’s efforts and it made both very happy. The nest was beginning to take form. Red was quite proud of it, and happy that blue seemed to start feeling better too. Things were falling into place (pun intended).

But the continuous toil was making red tired. Sometimes it would flop down, tired, and slightly dizzy. Then it would suddenly see blue looking poorly again, and it would redouble its efforts for blue needed the nest to rest. Work went on. The praises helped. But it was getting increasingly hard to look for the pieces. The people had begun to use dustbins conscientiously and red had a tough time looking for bits. It had to circle around the whole city looking for a bit of scrap to complete the nest. One day, it started feeling very sick. Its wings wouldn't flap anymore and its beak hurt from clenching scraps while it flew miles to drop it into the now-almost-complete nest. After much effort, it dragged itself to the nest. When blue saw red coming back without a scrap, it demanded an explanation. Red replied, explaining how tired it felt, secretly wishing for comfort. But blue was furious. It hopped on one foot then on another in rage and shrilled at red. Red listened, wretchedly, and tried to reply. But blue had flown away to the nest and shut its eyes. Red picked itself up, to slowly hobble away.

At first red was angry. It had been wronged, and it had suffered. It ranted and raged and vowed to never build a nest for anyone again. This went on, and red was content. Then one day it remembered blue’s praise. It had decided on it’s own to build a nest for blue. Blue had only wanted it, and red had agreed. So what was red complaining about? Then it spent days mourning for blue. It flopped around dejectedly, wishing it had been wiser. Then one day it decided to go back to building nests, but protecting itself from another blue’s anger too. But now it tired very fast, it had used all its energy on building blue’s nest. It was sickly now, where it had once been a young sprightly bird. It talked to purple, for it was wise. Purple gave it a big beak slap and told it to not to be a pansy and nudged it to stand straight. It told red to puff its breast and sing like it used to, in its strong and clear voice, without the doubt that had crept into its melody. It sang till it took flight and soared in the clouds, flapping its wings to the music. Suddenly red didn’t feel as tired anymore.

But anger suits some better. And it necessarily isn't always tiring.