The crows have brought him little bones, knuckles, fingers, hooves, teeth.
They have thrown them, and they have waited for him to read.
There, the tooth, small and canine. Out of place, under the hoof.
The High Priest sat in the snow, the blue eyed crow latched onto his necklace, he too staring at the bones and clacking his beak together.
Hm..I did hear one of the girls shout the other night
The entire flock have gathered around Valdis, a black blob in the dying light speckled with snow, just off the main path towards Ragnar's shrine. The birds are squawking, and Valdis was listening, occasionally humming or clacking his teeth in response.







