July 11th; Nightfall; Partly Cloudy; 75° F/24° C

The air was too still, but to quickly beating wings, the night was a warm and welcoming - perfect conditions to fly. Somewhere in the depths of the Sacred Grove, a black-feathered creature was flittering through the canopy, searching for a place to land. He had just been over the Mountain of Dire and was now looking for a suitable perch to rest and replenish his energy. Beneath partly cloudy skies the moon did little to help guide him lest a moonbeam slipped out from behind a cloud and showed him a decent branch.

Black talons attached to stick-like black limbs clutched and balanced on each branch as he hopped from one place to another. It wasn't until he saw something peculiar on the forest floor did he stop and gaze downward. Here, even the woodlands were quiet, seemingly devoid of life. In the dark however, it was easy to mistake one thing for another; but, in this particular case, this avian spirit was correct. Everywhere around him the stale scent of fox, wolf, badger, coyote, and deer littered the forest floor, their trails now several hours old.

He dug his stark, pointed black beak into the ground, pinching a small pebble between the roof of his mouth and his tongue as he took a good glance around. Long ago, when the realm was still wild and very much untamed, this was the home of the Swift River wolves - and this was the very place where Indru and Corinna's children - Rihael, Kisla, Fenru, Aiyana, Torrel, and Rissa - had been born. The raven hopped about in a playful manner before approaching the base of an ancient tree where an underground den laid long abandoned. With utmost caution, he placed the small round stone at the entrance, nudging it forward in a simple offering.

These Tainn's would not be long forgotten. Not on his watch.

The raven was just about ready to spread his wings and take flight when someone emerged through the shadows. The calling of a name missed altogether when he had silently offered a small invocation to keep this space true to its name: sacred... as it was one of the very first wolf packs Relic Lore had ever beheld. The girl, who looked newly into her yearling days, made to utter the name again, but instead she scolded him. Scolded him!. The stark black feathers on his chest ruffled. Didn't this girl have any respect?

He rounded on her, facing her directly so that he could see her in what little remained of the day's last light. Then, the bird did as was rather befitting and appropriate of his species. He scolded her right back.

"CAH-AWWW! CAW!"

What he had meant to say was: Foolish girl, do you think I'm stupid? Of course, I can't eat stones.

Though very aware that wolves were not the sort to meddle with (unless they were willing or careless enough to share a bit of leftover carrion), the avian creature puffed up his chest and lifted his head in a manner that conveyed his superiority. Again, he attempted to communicate with her, tittering and guffawing as though he were talking to a fledgling. Don't you have any idea about the lands on which you walk?

He flapped his wings in a menacing manner, stepping forward as though to ward her away from the den, Go. Begone! Unless you have respects to pay, I suggest you get going...

The air picked up then, the warmth of summer blowing over him and through the trees...

Of course the girl was not afraid - she was several times bigger than him. She should have been fearful, though, considering just who it was she was speaking to, but as it was, the raven could not be bothered to try and cross the language barrier. To make her see that all around her, there were still traces of evidence that a thriving wolf pack had once lived here within the Grove. "Keep yer stupid stone," she uttered. The feathered creature chirruped once, but it was not long until another soul joined them beneath the trees.

He could sense her approach and immediately he fluttered up into the branches of the old, moss-covered tree, scolding Morganna once more. "Miss," the newcomer addressed the Willow Ridge princess. This one had more sense, she actually took a moment to acknowledge him, too... "Sir." The raven cooed in reply, staring down at the young ladies from his perch as Naia explained a bit of spirituality that he, in his own way and tongue, was all too familiar with. It was curious as well as soothing, really, to listen as her voice rose and fell and lilted from one word to another. Perhaps the yearling could take her words to heart, and maybe the following year she would understand why he stopped by the places he had visited. Just maybe.

Introductions were made now and it seemed his point had been driven home by the other woman's words. It was probably a good time to go, to visit the next landmark or sanctuary. He hopped along his thin branch, clicking his beak in a mischievous manner as he prepared to leave. Before the Ridge wolf could answer or respond, a rather unsightly trail of white goop oozed down the right side of her dark-furred face. His beak parted in a sort of impish grin and just like that, with the unfolding of his wings, he had taken off with the breeze. Another harsh cry filled the air, but this time, it was a string of cawww's that could have been considered as an enthusiastic guffaw; the chortling sound quickly trailing off into the night...