When a sound broke over me, shockingly loud, I nearly jumped out of my skin. I swung my rifle up instinctively, sighting down the barrel at the enemy, and … “Caw,” said the enemy agreeably. I burst into slightly embarrassed laughter and lowered my gun. My heart thudded against my ribs. The hooded crow—kachulkni, we call them here—looked down at me with the wary interest and mild pity that crows and ravens always seem to have for humanity.
