The Death of a Raven

It began as any story would I suppose; with the end of another story.

Lost in time now, the ancient stories of forgotten yore. The raven's flights no longer are as often as it might wish, but it still cracks it beak against the stone of it's perch in memory of the 'time that came before'.

*clack*

*clack*

*clack*

Silence follows as the raven looks out over the once green forest, his once young eyes now deceiving him as age takes its toll on his body. The once shining ebony feathers that crowned his brow now faded and more gray than not. He tilts his head to the left, and then the right, trying to see what had once been there. He clicks his beak and looks at the forest once more. He sees, he remembers, he feels. The days of his youth long behind him, he knows only Death awaits. The pale woman that sometimes walks the fields of ash beneath his perch. He knows she will one day come to take him away. But not today. No, today she simply watches him, bowing respectfully to him as he looks at her again.

He clacks his beak against the stone again, responding in kind to her greeting.

*clack*

*clack*

*clack*

Though the raven cannot see it, he smells the storm brewing in the distance, perhaps across the mountains where the sun once rose. He blinks away a drop of rain and watches half blind as the storm moves closer, growling as if a stalking panther. Lightning flashes somewhere in the distance, the storm growling in response. The raven clicked his beak again, a memory nearly gone now as clear as if he were but a hatchling. He smells the roses of the garden that the pale woman had once kept, their buds as black as he had once been. A good memory, to be sure. Just as quickly as it has come, it is gone.

The remaining 'day light' fades away, leaving the raven to ponder alone. He is sure tomorrow will be the day. Tomorrow, he will die. He nods to himself, quietly clicking his beak. At last the waiting is at an end. He gives a remarkably loud screech in challenge to the storm. If he is to die, he will die on his own terms. He manages to get to the ledge of his perch. A new strength enters his frail frame. Another challenging screech and he launches himself into the storm, blind, though uncaring. The raven knows where he is going.

He lets himself be blown in the way of the wind, simply riding the gusts. How long had it been since he had felt so alive? How long had he simply let life happen? He did not know, nor did he care as he sailed toward the final destination. The storm growled and rumbled as another flash of lightning lit the sky. The raven screamed back, just as furious.

***

The raven clacked his beak against the stone angel. He hopped around the base, tilting his head to see the crimson liquid that dripped from his body. A rough landing most assuredly. He shrugged the thought away and pecked at the statue again. The moss covered angel was almost as dark as he. He took pride that he was darker. It made him feel young again. He flapped furiously and alighted carefully on the angels shoulder, leaning in close to her ear. He began to whisper, to speak of his life and the things he had seen and done, of love and lust, and battles with the raptors. He spoke of secrets and of mysteries, of the moon and stars.

Blood trickled from his many wounds as he continued to whisper, the crimson stain spreading on the statue. He shivered, suddenly cold. The raven clacked his beak on the angels wing.

*clack*

*clack*

*clack*

From the darkness, a soft voice called out a greeting.

"Ah... There you are. I thought we had lost you Elder one." Death said, picking her way carefully through the maze of tombstones and briar's. "I see you have found a friend."

The raven clicked his beak.

"You seem to be bleeding my friend. Shall I take the pain away?" She asked, her dark liquid eyes looking up at the old bird from below.

The raven scooted closer to the angels neck. He clicked his beak in answer.

"Ah, so it is, so it is. It will be hard for me to get you up there. But wouldn't you rather just rest?" Death asked, quite concerned for the raven.

He clacked his beak against the statue once more.

*clack*

"Very well. I will respect your wishes Old One." Death pulled a black rose from the air and lifting up on her toes, offered the stem to the bird. The raven took the rose gently and pulled it up, it's large bud dragging through his blood. He clicked in thanks and dismissed the specter.

"Goodbye my friend." She said before wandering back into the dark forest.

He watched as she went, and when he was certain she was gone, he made himself comfortable, resting his head upon the black petals of the rose. The raven closed his eyes and sighed, never to open them again.