From a place far away wind took hold of the ocean far outside Huzzas and pushed. The push travelled, crossing the deep in lines, growing longer and cleaner, spending nothing. Black first, wing to wing which moved through teal, then cyan into the blue-green sheen that sits on feathers. The lip hooked over like a beak. The wind combed the spray into its plumage.
It was the raven, its wings spread out infront of me, heading straight for me.
