Hoshor Plains Held his heart in his hand, and ate of it.

Through the stirrings of the air, shimmering, splitting, coalescing again, came a figure not of the air. He saw it but immediately dismissed it, and would have continued on his way - following the vulture's silhouette or leading it, it did not matter. The shape drew boldly forward and then it's mouth opened, and words came out.

The sounds made him stop and stare. The shadow barred his way so that it could pass on a message - one that was clearer than what Heksvarrim had discerned during his transit of the area. He had tried to listen to the clouds some mornings, or stars when the clouds were gone, and from time to time in the silence he could hear the rumble of something distant and ominous - like the ocean was trapped inside his skull.

This was different.

Death. Rebirth. His choice; who could choose? Heksvarrim had never been given the option before and if he understood what faced him now, he gave no indication. Just a dull stare of his good eye.

The vulture had become distant. When the corpse-man looked up to catch its arcing body, it was not there - if it had been real at all. Further away, he spied a dark shape which could have been it, or a trio of ravens splitting apart.

A vision?

The shadow's voice reverberated in his head beneath the crashing static of the sea: Choose wisely.

He side-stepped around the shadow and ambled in pursuit of those ravens.