The crows watched with baleful interest as the man dragged himself through the tall, wet grass. The graveyard was their home, and they were the keepers of all who entered their domain. His skin glistened temptingly from the tempest that raged, but the vicious, cold wind deterred their hunger. For now. He did not walk, like other humans. Weak. Tasty. Their black, beady eyes grew sharp as the man slowed, his muscles jumping and jittering with the cold. He would not last long. They would feast soon. 

One crow dropped from its perch, riding the winds to dip closer to gain a closer perspective of their soon to be meal. Blood. The human was streaked with it, though the rain and thinned its presence on his skin. One by one, the crows began to abandon the shelter of the trees to circle the man as he collapsed, falling still save for the raspy rise and fall of his chest.




The crows began to call to one another, whipping themselves into a frenzy. One dipped low and struck, it's claws ripping into the man's skin. He screamed, but the fresh blood overrode any sense of fear. A dark, feathered tornado, they whirled around him, propelled by the force of the storm. Then, with some primal strength born of fear, the man struck. 

Batting on bird from the sky, he staggered upright, protecting his eyes as he began to run. Wildly, he fled and the crows took chase, enraged that their meal would dare deter them. Dead things should stay dead. They tore at his skin unforgivingly, striving to pull him back down to the graves where he belonged.

But he escaped. Bursting free from the graveyard, he threw himself against the church door. The dilapidated wood shuttered before falling open, revealing a startled priest. The crows screamed their anger and frustration into the wind as the man collapsed against the priest.

"My son, who are you?" The priest asked, easing the man into a pew. 

"I… I don't know."  Their meal stared about wildly at the figures draped in white, unnervingly still despite the chaos of the storm before falling unconscious. The priest eased him down carefully before returning to the door and glaring up at the crows who called for their feast to be returned. Firmly he shut the door and, reluctantly, the crows gave up and returned to the graveyard to roost. 

Search of the Forgotten

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