“The raven that carries our gift is called anoa.” Brush put aside, she clasped one of the pins and skillfully twirled a strand of my hair around her finger. “It is said that, at our birth, our anoa flies down from the moon carrying our gift. A heavy burden for a raven, so it can take many years until we receive it… unless it’s the gift of void.” A shrug. “It’s empty, so it weights nothing.”
