Kieran nodded, falling quiet for several moments before shaking his head. “Of all the birds,” he muttered, unease filling his voice. “It had to be ravens.” He dragged a hand over his chest. “My people see them as an omen—well, not so much any longer. But the eldest of the wolven? They did. It’s because of what they represent to the gods.” His gaze lowered to his glass. “Ravens serve as a warning,” he said. “Of death and destruction.”
