“What news, my spy?” the queen asked. The crow sang the queen her secrets. “Oh, not him. Anyone but him. I was afraid of that.” She sighed heavily, wearily. “But who else would want to steal it but him?” The crow sang another song full of secrets, for in this world, crows didn’t simply caw. They saw. They saw, and they sang of what they saw. And the song the crow sang was one that said the world was about to change. Lost ones were coming home, but before they could feast in celebration, they must fight.
