Behind her there was a squawk, a frail flapping. “Help Craf,” the crow cawed. Farrell did, hurrying to find Craf on the stairs. He brought the crow back to them, one of the bird’s wings was hanging at the wrong angle. He broke out into mournful squawking when he saw Corban and Gar, and demanded to be placed upon Corban’s chest, where he immediately lay down and started cawing softly.
Rip my heart out
