Whitefish River synthwave goose

"If you have the means to escape, you'd best run fast. Once the hunt begins, the hunter will never surrender until there is success."



There was a surprise no longer.

Eyes lurched upwards to find the approaching shadow.

"Heya!"

So informal; this alone was valid cause for disdain. 

"... you look a lot like my Aunt Raven."

Dear... I am the raven, Words spoken in her thoughts.

For the longest time, nothing was said. Once the river was near to touch, the raven watched; listened; waited.

In a world where all come from the same beginning, there are few that don't share similarities. Odd first words, but words nonetheless. The boy should consider himself grateful he is being spoken to period. At best, silence ranges through the entirety of any interaction. This one is fortunate.

The vocals were strained, in a way. Not ceased, but not truly living. Though, were any of them?

Each syllable stroked the tongue roughly. Stern; cross; sharp. This was the way of the raven. There was never to be soft intent, else the meaning behind its origin would be lain to waste and despair.