Blackfeather Woods We're beautiful creatures
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Over the course of several days, Ramsay had made dozens of attempts at climbing out of the glen. Finally, after five tries just that working, the boy reached the top of the hill and sprawled his short body out, panting mightily as he drank in the gloom of the rest of the woods. In truth, it didn't look a whole lot different from the glen, but there were no steep hills penning him in up here. He could see towering trees as far as his eyes could see, thick tangles of undergrowth spanning the distance between them, with occasional game trails breaking up the scene. His stubby tail wagged and his face broke into a grin.

Even though he was essentially free from his usual boundaries, Ramsay felt tethered to the place and didn't wander far from the glen's steep edges. He hadn't worked out how he was going to get back down without literally rolling down, but he was loathe to leave his siblings behind and strike out deeper into the woods, so he paced along the upper edge, whining pensively, until he came across something that spoke directly to his monstrous heart: a crow hopping along the ground with an unusual looking upper beak.

Living in these woods, even a cub as young as Ramsay was familiar with the normal look of a crow's beak: sleek, tapered, with a mild overhang. This crow, however, had an upper bill that was easily twice as long as its lower bill and curved downward, giving the bird a strangely predatory aspect. Ramsay's eyes grew large with admiration as he watched it from a distance, showing for the first time a strong affinity for deformed and abnormal features.