The overwhelming rasping of crows had stirred Deirdre from her afternoon nap, squinting at the sunlight when it hit her already sensitive eyes as she poked her head from the foxhole she had taken refuge in. Blearily blinking, she snuffled softly at the cacophony of the winged beasts flying in amongst the forest.
It had to be a sign of sort. But of what?
She still required guidance from her mother and Ra on spiritual omens, but that wouldn't stop her from making assumptions and wild guesses until she was able to speak with them.
Some believed a group of crows to be a bad omen, of incoming death, and if they were then they were a few months too late. But Deirdre knew crows to be cunning and wise, able to learn, even, which meant they couldn't be all bad.
Deirdre stepped forth from the foxhole, staring up at the mass of black wings up above with a sense of awe. "What are you trying to tell me?"