Emberwood and he sang about what i'd become

@Serem

there is a raven.
 
caw does not often see them – did not, anyways, at his home. those they had not driven out learned quickly – the moment a crow or wolf saw them they were guaranteed death. it is a lesson that has been drilled into caw, and like the others he has learned from those who raised him, it is one that neither he nor avis he will soon forget.
 
he does not often do subtle, but crouched low to the ground he slinks behind the snow and tangled fallen tree-limbs, as quiet as he ever gets. avis is somewhere above him; as he creeps around one trunk, lips peeled steadily back and white teeth bared, the raven glances up. it does not fly, not yet, but it meets his eyes coolly, and at that moment avis drops from the trees.
 
caw breaks, abruptly, into a sprint. his paws scrabble at the snow and dirt and the layer of dead leaves for a second before he gains purchase and launches himself forwards.
 
avis and the raven are, for a moment, hard to tell apart. caw splashes snow everywhere under his paws, and does not hesitate, driving forwards with jaws wide and the assumption avis will know enough to make sure he gets the raven in his teeth.
 
he feels feathers on his tongue, sees a black-winged figure pull itself away from him, but there is no crow’s call of warning, and he bites down. blood flares against his tongue bright and metallic, and when caw yanks his head up a familiar weight lands on his back.
 
bones crunch under the pressure of his jaws. if it was any other animal he would not hesitate to bite and swallow, but ravens are not for eating; that is another lesson he has learned. instead he shakes his head violently back and forth and throws it, still struggling faintly, to the ground.