“Then why can I understand you?” The raven made a very derisive squawking noise. “I’m not doing anything,” it said. “If you can hear me talk, it’s all on you.” “Are you saying I’m doing something magical?” asked Gerta, baffled. The raven turned its head to one side, then the other, fixing her with each eye in turn. “No,” it said finally. “You haven’t a drop in you. There’s magic coating you like frost on a tree branch, that’s all.”
