Raven's Watch birds of a feather

The sun had begun it's trek towards the horizon, slowly but confidently as the day transitioned into a late afternoon. Some of the raven's had taken flight towards the river, most likely in search of a snack.

Her obsidian pelt seemed to absorb all light from the sun, warming up her tired bones with a renewed sense of purpose.

"My name is Mictēcacihuātl, though I go by Mictec." Her tongue seemed to relish in washing over the ancient tongue of her ancestors, a language that had begun to lose meaning from her birthplace. This was the least she could do, try to carry on a legacy that was quickly fading into the oblivion