Blackfeather Woods uppiq

Whilst the boy carried with him a single black bird, Kove created a dark cloud overhead with the amount that he sent soaring up into the skies. He watched them fly so effortlessly, high into the sky, off to gather information for themselves for the day; they always returned, both the murder and the conspiracy, the war between them momentarily settled. Perhaps it was the winter months that encouraged them to work together, or perhaps it was brought on by the deaths of the previous leaders and the rise of new, younger birds. Whatever the case, he’d eventually speak with them about it, so that the crows, ravens, and wolves may all reunite as one.

When that might happen, he knew not, only that it would not be right that moment. For through the woods there cut a howl, the voice one he did not recognise—and so, he followed it.

Kove arrived shortly after the boy called, his head high but posture, overall, relaxed; at his age, he refused to be tense within his own home. Just as the voice was not recognised, he could not see the child as his son. They’d been taken so long ago, when they were so young, that the bodies he saw then were ones he could not pick out of a crowd now.

A shame, really.

“Hello,” he greeted with a nod. “What brings you here?” Perhaps he was searching for someone, or something—why else would a young one come to the woods, with the reputation they’d created?