The Crow
Without
Voice

I perched atop a tree in a burning world, as Sun's luminous rays laid fire to
the skies as He departed at the end of another day. I watched as Mother Night,
in Sun's leave, slew what remained of His touch on the land, Her shadows
devouring the last threads of light.

Exhilarated by the renewed darkness that held sway once again over the Dark
Forest, I descended from my vantage point and picked my way through the shadowed
trees to a clearing in which a deep pool lay tranquil and still. Silence had
descended upon the Wyrden forest, unbroken by any creature, though across the
still waters I spied the glowing red eyes of a direwolf watching me from within
the dark -- a worthy predator of Glomdoring. I stood breathing in the night air,
as silent and still as the pool before me, until eventually even the direwolf
lost interest and his unsettling eyes faded into the black.

Rousing from my reverie I surveyed my surroundings, watching the shadows flit
between the branches. Bowing my head in reverence, I whispered a prayer to
Mother Night, beseeching Her to lend me Her strength and guidance. Feeling the
essence of the shadows around me tingle and my feathers stand on end, I softly
sighed, knowing that my prayers had been acknowledged. However, this was the
sole response I received, for the Night does not answer in spoken tongue.

Thus I stood in the obscurity, staring into the stagnant depths of the waters,
and heard a rustling at my back. Turning, upon a branch not two wingspans from
me, I saw perched a ruffled crow. He cocked his head, examining me with one
beady eye as he opened and closed his beak as though trying to speak.

Folding my wings behind me, I reached my hand out to him invitingly. The bird
then hunched and spread his wings, opening wide his beak, though not a sound did
he utter. He continued to do this, his ruffled feathers standing out, and I then
understood. This crow possessed no voice.

Whether he ever had one I knew not, but the realization saddened me greatly.
Being something of bird-kin myself, I understood what misery it must be, to be
without voice, as surely as it would be to have naught but one wing.

Such empathy was this; filled with pity, I approached the crow and offered him
my arm.

"Come, crow," I breathed, to which he unhesitatingly obeyed, forsaking his
branch to dig his talons into my flesh. I then set him upon my shoulder, where
he preened at my feathers, and I whispered, "We will yet find you a voice so
that you may fill our beloved forest with your calls."

Thus, I carried him out of the forest and took flight at the river. He launched
himself off my shoulder and flew beside me; together we soared under the starry
sky over grassy moors and landed on the crest of a hill. He left me for a short
time then, disappearing into the night as his black plumage would allow.

When he returned, he clicked his beak in annoyance and, landing upon my
shoulder, plucked a silver feather from my wing. Sighing, I took my feather from
the grasp of his beak and took flight once more, passing over farmlands and
beaches and finally a large expanse of sea, taking ground upon the sandy shores
of an island.

The crow left me once more, this time for longer; I imagine he flew quite far
over the rolling seas searching for his voice before returning to me. Apparent
that he did not find what he sought among the crashing waves, he clicked his
beak and plucked another feather from my wing. Taking my second plume from the
bird I rose into the firmament and flew far to the east, passing over a great
road and landing in a stone field of ruins that lay beneath the shadows of great
mountains.

Yet again the crow left me, and I assumed he would be peering into the many
crevices and cracks that patterned the ruined stone. He returned to me after a
time still longer than the last, and I may only guess where he had gone from the
musty, stale scents he brought upon his plumage. Plucking yet another silver
feather from my wing, the bird regarded me with something of a reproachful look
in his eyes.

Saying nothing to my companion I carried the crow into the mountains, remaining
on my feet with my wings tightly furled, as the winds were too strong and my
bones too light. I carried the crow in my hands throughout our mountain travels,
shielding him from the winds and the cold waves of air that flowed down from the
highest gargantuan peaks.

For a long while we travelled the great mountain passes, both becoming slightly
agitated at the prolonged period without flight, until we found ourselves among
the southern mountains, not two days' flight from our home.

It was below a great ridge that the crow suddenly beat his wings and flew off
over the edge of the precipice, strangely yet skilfully diving and veering to
avoid buffets of wind that would have sent him plummeting had they caught his
wings.

This time he left me for so long that I became doubtful that he would return. I
sat upon a large rock and waited for what seemed like days, watching the erratic
skies for my friend.

Finally, in the twilight of another dying day, I heard an unexpected sound upon
the singing winds.

Surely not here, among these common stones, I thought to myself.

Yet, having spent my time among the crow-inhabited trees of the Dark Forest, the
sound was unmistakable. And aye, there it was: a laughing peal of caws preceded
the bird that flitted down to me from above the great ridge. Landing upon my
outstretched arm, the crow plucked a single ebony feather from his breast and
dropped it in my hand. He then regarded me with a beady eye and spoke but one
strange word, which I will not repeat here.

What significance this word possessed I never discovered, though I asked him
about it frequently. My friend, during his search, had indeed found a voice; but
wherever he found the favour of voice he was bestowed upon also by the gift of
speech.

On our return to our beloved forest, I asked the crow many questions,
particularly about where he had gone when he left me, and where he had found his
voice, though these he did not answer. Seldom did he reply to my interrogations,
and so much of my curiosity about this bird remains unquenched to this day. I
often wondered if our travels had been for naught, as we had found what we were
looking for so close to our home, though when I mentioned this he merely shook
his head.

As we neared the borders of our forest, the crow turned his beak to me and asked
in his croaking voice, "What is it you seek, Rancoura Trill?"

Regarding him thoughtfully, I replied simply, "The truth."

The crow merely laughed and flew off into the trees, disappearing into the
shadows of the mighty Glomdoring wood.