Blackfeather Woods the haunting

the Raven was not long in coming, for he felt the deaths as if a ripple across the wood, and now he stood at its edge. he was still a long time, and one could have thought him dead as the birds, save for the minimal rise and fall of his chest, the stiffness of his posture. something grew within the man, something old and for a long time not felt, something that began as a faint glow to a long-dead ember and began setting fires to all that lay beside it. 

for a long, terrible moment he was unmoving. like the grating of claws on stone, the guttural growl crawled up his throat and out betwixt his fangs. his head lowered and focused for the first time on the boy, and the growl did not stop. he had violated the sanctity of the wood. his wood. the air around them was dead and still and heavy, and Abraxas gave the sinner one chance to stand before he moved, and when he did, it would be viper-like lunge for his remaining eye.