Delanore's Crows

To the others I seem crazy. I don’t have much, barely scraping by in this soul sucking place our damned souls call home, but what leftovers I have, I give to the crows. To them my gifts are not overlooked as being to little, to them it is food and they are grateful. Because of their gratitude, I show mine when they bring me gifts of their own. Pebbles, stolen gems, bones, buttons and scrap metal are all placed neatly on my lawn. I keep all of my gifts, it would be rude not to. I treasure the trinkets that are given to me as if they are priceless, and to me they are. I love my gifts and I love the crows. They are like the family I never had, bringing me warmth and light from even the sight of their pitch feathers. I’m ashamed to say but I have a favorite. His obsidian eyes have the shine of crimson when he turns in the blazing sun. I would never call him mine, he is far too intelligent to be held down by ownership, even if only in spoken word alone. Yet, I do call him by a name I did not choose. I can hear it echoed across the wind whenever my eyes land on his precise feathers. I never speak the echoed name aloud when others are near as they would never understand that I, myself did not name him. Raum, a cursed and demonic name to my beloved feathered companion. I know he is not entirely a crow, his eyes say to much for it to be so. I will never reveal this to him. To live alone with crows is more merciful than being dragged to Hell by the one I love, for I know that is what he is here for.