"They say that do they?" The line was a subtle question coming from his long black beak. Raven knew exactly where he was headed with both the question and his flight. There was just the right balance of sunlight and shade to create shadow. The woman looked up from her walk to see his wings.
She, the woman, did not hear Raven's question exactly. But his shadow was pronounced, a daytime tattoo and a reminder. He was always aware, how could she not know that. The storyteller had fed stories to the land called the prairie front. For weeks throughout the summer talk and tales massaged the possibility of great and different journeys. The Black Shadow Animal watched, listened, and never once interfered. Now though the medicine story which first poured his spirit into the magic had been dispensed... he might.
A season of turns approached and not only did the people have something to say. He would keep his golden eyes on the golden wagon and the old pair. If they forgot the protocol, or conversely stepped too rigidly out of habit? Well, that's what this story is all about.
What else, who else?
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