The raven tattered down from the sky like a determined autumn leaf being tossled by the wind.

It landed with all the grace and beauty of a limping grandfather who knew his legs could survive the jump.

A shuffle of feet, a twist of the head. The raven viewed me from its low angle. While it kept twitching its feathered body as if dodging tiny invisible needles travelling at half-speeds, it never took its eyes of me.

The wind rustled a leaf from the ground, threw it up into a whirling folk dance and awakened the raven and the human from their battle of wills. The raven took off with an ugly croaking sound, I walked onwards, defeated.

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