Firefly Ravine timmy turner made money off the iraq war

It had followed.

 

The great bird took wing once more when the pair said their goodbyes. Although it had kept its distance during the conversation, it swooped closer now. Close enough that a wolf might be tempted to leap for it - but they would find it just out of reach.

"You didn't tell her," said the bird, its voice a low croak from up above. There was something else in its voice - something that was hard to place past the thick, unnerving accent of a raven trying to speak in a tongue made for teeth. Judgement, perhaps? Amusement? It was impossible to tell.