The Tangle those that keep the faith

It came in a cloud of irridescent darkness. An unkindness, they called it, when two or more ravens were gathered together. And, if one were to watch the amorphous blob of hell and feathers on its way south (every shade of black imaginable, from oil slick to burnt earth to blood shed at the witching hour) they might very well think it fitting.

But the raven watched, and if it thought anything at all, this did not show on its face.

The wind was high even after the flock had passed into the distance, and the bird hunkered down where it had landed among its ilk - only to remain when the rest took wing - gazing around at the reaching arms of what wolves here called the Tangle. Beady, glittering eyes carved a path through the twisted trunks and needle-clad boughs.

If it had been looking for something, that thing did not appear to be present. Regardless, the bird remained there on the branch,

silent
and still
and watchful.

With their move here imminent, East found himself making frequent trips to learn the land--search all the areas for any signs of weakness so that when they did finally make the tangle their home, there was less of a chance of being taken by surprise. He really hated surprises--preferred the safety and reassurance of knowing what the future held. He wasn't naive, though; he knew it was impossible to account for everything, but he could certainly try to be as prepared as possible. 

East traversed carefully but efficiently across the rocky terrain, ears turning toward the occasional sound in the distance, but eyes remaining on the path in front of him. He paused to look up at the sky when the dark wave of birds temporarily cast a large shadow over him and ground in front of him. He watched, entranced by the sight until the sky was clear again, golden gaze scanning the area afterwards for danger. The corvidae caught his attention from where it perched in the tree, and the gona sat back on his haunches, expression curious as he watched.

When the wolf appeared, the bird did not hide its interest. Not having the nose of a wolf, it could only guess at the creature's origins, but it seemed almost to recognize the one that stood below it. At least, it acknowledged it with the slightest incline of its dark head. Not a gesture of recognition, but the unsettling narrow of a predator's senses.

It was an unnatural gesture, for a raven. A raven should not hunt.

This one did.

"Do you know what lies underneath?" it asked, the words crackling and popping unnaturally in the raven's throat. Only crudely could it immitate the words of wolves, but it was enough to be understood. Here, it leaned its head down a fraction more, listening carefully for the wolf's response, should any come.

The raven looked at him, titling his head in an unsettling way, but East remained curious. Then the bird was making sounds, and he was surprised to realize that he understood them to be words. Do you know what lies beneath. It was odd to hear the creature speak, but it was even more intriguing to the gona. He stared at the bird, eyebrows creasing slightly in confusion, for he did not quite understand the question. Do I know what lies beneath what? he finally asked, and he did feel a little strange talking to a bird, bit not strange enough to keep him from following his curiosity. The bird asked a question, and the wolf was enthralled by the interaction already.

It did not seem to move, but something in its countenance was subtly changed. If it had lips, it would have smiled. Since it did not, the change may well have been lost on the wolf. "Underneath," it repeated, moving with exaggerated, liquid lethargy to point the curve of its beak toward the ground. "Beneath us. You."

It looked for a moment as though it would stop there, bent at that angle. But the raven continued to dip until it seemed as though it might fall dead from the branch, keeled over by some wicked, unknown sickness. At the last moment, though, dark wings flared on either side, and it swept up into the air in a flurry of motion, the slide of its feathers an unpleasant cacophony.

The bird moved only a few yards away before alighting once more on the branch of an ancient coastal pine. This one was rickety, and creaked under its weight. "Beneath," it croaked again, point its beak to the ground.

At the base of the tree, there was a dark and unsettling crevice, just large enough for an enterprising wolf to squeeze through.

East followed the bird's movement with his head, stopping when his gaze fell on the ground in front of his paws. His eyes scanned the floor around him, flicking up to lock onto the raven once more at the sound of it's beating wings. He watched silently as it perched on a closer tree, confusion leaking into his expression as the creature repeated itself. He couldn't say he had ever thought about whatever was beneath the ground, he supposed he just assumed it was more ground. His scrutiny continued as he looked to the ground once more, this time noticing the small, foreboding opening at the base of the tree the raven now used as its perch. It was tempting to move closer and check it out further, being the inquisitive wolf that he was, but he stayed where he was, lifting his nose to sniff the air suspiciously before looking back to the strange creature, uncertainty keeping him from moving any closer.

The bird stared a moment longer, as if committing the wolf to memory, but seemed to have nothing more to say. When it had looked its fill on the other creature, it mantled its wings and took flight once more. Once, twice, three times it circled above - almost as if in farewell. But soon enough, it had disappeared past the trees, perhaps never to be seen or heard from again.