Spotted Eagle Mountain the world is quiet here

the raven did not allow his voice to pierce the heavens as had the tyrant's moments before. no, it was rare that the man allowed himself to piece the silence into all its ugly shards, and never would he do so without cause. he had not expected to find the boy, not when he had left behind so recently the charred remains of what once had been. he'd watched his father, waited to see what the man would do when he'd revealed himself once on the borders.  his action had been no surprise, and Abraxas would have been content to leave behind the brotherhood and all their foolish lore should he not have found the boy. 

it was true what the blue-eyed beast claimed; he did not speak, he did not get in the way. it was not in the manner of a raven to force his will and bend others to him. he did not work in the manner that the tyrant did, did not think as he did. he was the shadow to the boy's fire, and in this he was content. the raven was cunning, and there would surely be spoils if he followed the hunter, surely more so if he whispered to the tyrant's wants. 

and so he followed the boy in the manner of a wayward shadow, twisting through the trees like smoke. he came to stand by the side of the boy silently, melting into the space beside him. the other grinned, and the raven's glassy gaze betrayed nothing as they slid from the exposed canines to the valley below. they had been foolhardy in not killing the boy as he lay downed, surely, for allowing him to run. perhaps they would try again, perhaps they would succeed. only time would tell what the beast's return would entail, if anything at all.