My Crow Management RPG

[Bêthberry]

Game Owner -- The Barrow-Wight

First post:

Akaaw woke suddenly from a deep slumber, shivering in the freezing autumn air. He was momentarily confused in the darkness that surrounded him, but the warm bodies of the flock calmed him and he soon realized where he was. Normally he did not rise before the sun tinged the sky, and he wondered why he was now awake. Perhaps he had heard something. He raised his head slowly and looked around, but the blackness continued to press in on him. The flock rustled quietly in the trees, but no other bird was awake. He returned his head beneath his wing and slowly started to drift off to sleep again.

Soon he was roused again, but this time he was sure he had heard something. Like before, the hundreds of crebain around him slept still, but there was something different in the air this time. A soft breeze carried a strangely familiar sound among the trees, like music being played on a pipe far away. The sound triggered a thought in his small, feathered head, and he suddenly realized what it was that had alerted him out of his sleep. It was a summons.

Without disturbing those around him, he pushed himself off from his nest and spread his long wings to catch the air beneath him. The ground rushed up quickly, but with one strong push of his wings he shot upwards toward the sky. Soon he was past the treetops and could finally see where he was going.

Beneath him, Akaaw could see the dark canopy of the forest that occupied the northern end of the ring of Isengard. The trees to the south were systematically being pulled down by Saruman?s orcs, but here they still stood thick and tall. Rising up in their midst was the great tower of Orthanc. Its lofty shape was darker than the night air around it, and it made an easy landmark to fly to. Again the summons came, but this time it was such a strong sensation that it seemed as if the wizard had actually spoken to him within his skull. Akaaw increased his speed.

Soon, features of the tower became apparent, and the great crow swooped down toward a high balcony near its summit. There, gleaming in the darkness as if by his own inner light, Saruman the White stood with arm outstretched. Akaaw declined the offered perch, and instead alighted on the iron railing upon which the wizard leaned. He croaked a greeting to his master.

"Akaaw, my beautiful servant," whispered Saruman to the bird, gently stroking its dark, downy crown. "You are oh so strong and ever faithful. Thank you for coming at such an early hour."

Akaaw did not speak the language, which the wizard now used, but he did recognize it as that used by the dark-haired men of the plains, and he understood many of its words. Saruman always spoke to him with words of praise and wonder, and the bird loved him for it and eagerly awaited the task that the wizard would surely give him.

"Akaaw, my strong one, as always, you are quick to answer my summons. Yes. I know that I have disturbed you from your rest, and yet you come."

Saruman reached into a small bowl near him and pulled a large slice of fresh meat from hit, handing it to the crow, who immediately gobbled it down. He fed him a few more pieces before speaking to the bird again.

"Faithful one, I have a chore for you and your company. I have a task that must be done." He stared directly into the bird's eyes. "Are you ready to aid me, my friend?"

The large crebain nodded his head as he had seen Men often do to each other and croaked an affirmative, to which the wizard answered with another morsel of flesh.

"You are to take your flock north, immediately, and report to me anyone that you find." He stopped to make sure the crow understood. "Particularly of interest would be any mixed group of travelers--one with Dwarves and Elves together, or Men and Hobbits, would be quite remarkable. Do you know what a Hobbit is?"

Akaaw did not, and he croaked a negative.

"A Hobbit is a small Man. Not a child, a Man. If you see such a creature anywhere, you are to return to me at once with a report of their exact location. Is this all clear to you, my good friend?"

The bird nodded his head and opened his beak for another treat, but it did not come. Reluctantly, knowing what was expected, he sprang onto the wizard's arm, causing it to sink under his heavy weight. The old man could not hold him for long, but he always insisted that Akaaw sit on his arm for at least a few moments. He devoured the offered treats quickly and croaked his thanks, then jumped back onto the rail and waited for Saruman's final words.

"Go now, beautiful creban, and find what I seek!"

With that, Akaaw launched himself from the balcony and shot like an arrow toward the trees far below. Dawn was glimmering in the eastern sky and his flock was sure to be stirring.

*****

Edit: icon, for consistency with discussion thread

[ December 29, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[The Barrow-Wight]

Rimbaud joins the game.

Awake since before the sunlight had pierced the canopy of trees, Fingot observed Akaaw's strong and swift flight, cutting through the morning light. He also observed the inattention of others in the flock and clucked in disgust. The youngsters were not up to the standards of the crebain flocks he could remember. He clacked his beak in approval however, to see his strongest son, Mitakaw, awake and paying attention to him.

"My son, fetch me some morsels," he rasped, quickly. "Go! Make haste!" He would tempt the information out of Akaaw with sweetmeats.
His son, startled by the swift order, scuttled off his branch and darted down through the leafy branches towards the forest floor. Fingot nodded and shook out his mottled brown-grey wings. I may be old but I will not be excluded from whatever news this young chief brings to us! All crows were young to him now.

He cawed loudly, suddenly, and cackled with malevolent glee as the drowsing birds around him flapped and chattered as they were awoken. Some were so disturbed as to lose their footing and take to flight still half-asleep, blundering into branches and each other. Fingot nodded self-importantly again. He awaited the coming of his chief patiently, as he had done so many times before, for many other strong leaders of the flocks. For Fingot was old, older than the memory of any other living crow.

More than the others, then, he sensed the change in the air. A storm was coming. Fingot liked storms.

[ December 12, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[The Barrow-Wight]

Anglachel joins the game

Not being a morning crow, the unusual amount of pre-sunrise fluttering and cawing only served to annoy Brak. Nevertheless, being a light sleeper, he soon found himself rather awake. Unconsciously, while passing the final moments until complete wakefulness, he clumsily scratched the side of his beak with one foot.

Now fully awake, but not any less perturbed, Brak decided to wing his way to a more central region of the flock from the remote outer ring where he usually chose to sleep.

With a flap of his black wings, he took off into the air. Almost immediately though, he shot down and landed forcefully onto a branch two trees away. Two crows, sleeping comfortably side by side, were jostled violently awake and nearly toppled over until they were able to flap unceremoniously upwards and alight on a different branch. Brak chuckled to himself hearing the squawking left behind him as he glided towards the rest of the crebain mass, now feeling remarkably less perturbed.

Just before reaching the cluster of trees where most of the crebain elder held court, he noticed Akaaw flying in from the direction of Orthanc with that determined bearing that could only mean one thing: It was time for a journey. Even the stoic Brak felt a tremor of anticipation as he circled downward towards a spot amongst the quickly growing assembly of crows.

[ December 13, 2002: Message edited by: The Barrow-Wight ]

[The Barrow-Wight]

Belin joins the game.

Kadwyr started awake at the sounds of the excitement that surrounded him. All around him, the flock was chattering, clattering, moving, waking up. He stumbled, lost his balance, and found himself suddenly aloft among many other youngsters who darted back and forth, already squawking and gossiping quarrelsomely.

But Kadwyr, for once, did not join them, at least, not for long. He dived back toward his favorite perch with a quick, surprised clack of his beak, for he had spied old Akaaw flying back toward them.

Aha, so he’s been gone, off to the tower no doubt. He knows things, our chief, he knows things that are silence and secrets and things that he’ll tell. We’ll see about this.

Kadwyr perched, momentarily unmoving, waiting for Akaaw to arrive. Soon, soon, soon, there would be news, and news was the one thing that Kadwyr most dearly loved.

[ December 13, 2002: Message edited by: The Barrow-Wight ]

[The Barrow-Wight]

Susan Delgado joins the game.

Krikaw awoke in time to see Akaaw flying overhead. Now where would he be going before the rest of the flock was up and breakfasting? Perhaps he'd recieved a summons from the Master. With a flip of his wings, he settled back into place, not yet ready to rise. However, he was unable to go back to sleep; there was a disturbance among the birds on the branch underneath his. With a caw of impatience, he peered down to see what was wrong.

It seemed they too had seen Akaaw flying and were busily discussing it, although too quietly to be easily overheard. Well, that was just too bad; Krikaw was too old and too irritated to be polite.

"What are you doing?" He screeched.

All of them looked up, startled; they were all under a year of age and were used to taking orders from Krikaw.

"Well?" He said when no one volunteered any information.

"Oh, nothing, Sir," the oldest croaked, "We were just wondering where the Leader was going." The others ruffled feathers and clacked beaks in agreement. With a soft whistle, he left them to their discussion.

Hearing Fingot's clacking beak, he looked up. He watched the younger birds stumbling around with a touch of disgust. Had he taught them nothing? Turning his head to peer off the branch and onto the ground, he glided down in search of breakfast.

[ December 13, 2002: Message edited by: The Barrow-Wight ]

[The Barrow-Wight]

Akaaw dove beneath the trees and agilely threaded his way among the twisted branches until he arrived back at his cluttered nest. The flock was now fully awake, and those crows nearest to him watched expectantly as he landed on the dirty bundle of straw and twigs. He feigned surprise at the state of the place and made a show of tidying his home, tossing feathers, pieces of fur, and small bones over its edge. Finally, apparently finished with his housecleaning and pretending to only just notice the birds crowded around him, he stood suddenly to his full height and let out a great “kaCAW, CAW! kaCAW, CAW!”

The entire flock, thousands of birds strong, responded in one loud “kriiiCAW!” and then fell silent in expectation. Crow leaders soon began to fly in from all directions in answer to his summons, and lesser crebain moved to the side to make room for these important arrivals. The branches began to creak with their added weight.

Akaaw nodded respectfully as the ancient Fingot landed near him, but he turned an indifferent eye to his impertinent son. He spotted young Kadwyr above him, surrounded by his typical entourage of adoring females, and he noticed Krikaw and Brak on the branch beneath him whispering to each other but both keeping an eye on him. All but one of his leaders had responded to his call, and he was curious when that last crow would arrive. He decided he could wait no longer.

“The White Hand commands!” he croaked so that everyone in the tree could clearly hear him. The throng cheered loudly, and the excitement quickly spread through the flock until the forest trembled with its volume. Branches swayed and leaves shook as the birds bobbed up and down with raucous energy. Akaaw waited for them to quiet before continuing.

“We are leaving the protection of the Tower and going north into the mountains,” he said, noting calm enthusiasm in his young leaders but a hint of tired dismay in the ancient Fingot. Akaaw had no doubt the old bird would come on the journey, but he was not confident he would survive it. From the murmurs he heard from beyond his immediate vicinity, he could tell that Fingot was not the only creban unhappy about leaving the comfort of Isengard. Their dissent had to be squashed immediately with action.

“We are leaving immediately and will not be returning until we have found what the master seeks,” he commanded. “Captains, gather your companies.”

[Rimbaud]

Fingot snarled quietly as Akaaw turned away. Mitakaw was perched attentively at his right wing. He was a good son.

“What are you waiting for, sparrow!” he hissed, the insult jerking the younger bird into flight, before he composed himself and re-grasped the thick branch. A flash of anger came into Mitakaw’s bright eyes and Fingot nodded approvingly, before he could stop himself. The flurry of birds around them was bewildering, yet they stood as still as possible, swaying with the branch as it was knocked and disturbed. “This is important,” said the ancient creban. “Fetch your lieutenants, and my flank guards. I will remain near Akaaw.” He lowered his voice at the end and motioned for Mitakaw to come close. The glossy black crow bent his head against his father’s neck, obediently. Fingot whispered, a sibilant sound that none other could have heard, “Follow my instructions now, fledgling, and someday you will order such a multitude of birds.”

Fingot shoved roughly and unexpectedly against his son, who took wing and flew, dart-like, through the milling crows, cawing, low and insistent. Certain young, strong birds broke from their flights and joined him. The wise among the Captains nodded. Fingot was making his move now. None dared to prevent the desertion of their soldier birds to Mitakaw’s wing.

*******************************************

Fingot turned back to his chief. “What instructions from greybeard, my liege?” he asked slyly. “What advice might I offer thee? See here, my son has brought you a breakfast.” He gestured with a wing-tip and a nod of the head the small, wriggling treats Mitakaw had deposited on the branch near the leader.

Akaaw looked hard at his advisor, but said nothing. He turned to the grubs and devoured them, picking them delicately with his strong beak and flipping them up in the air, then plucking and gobbling them from their flight. Fingot felt a mild rush of envy, surprising himself.

“We fly north in a search,” said the chief. “That is all you need to know at present.”

Fingot nodded. He had patience. “My liege, I must away to prepare for the flight.” He cackled suddenly. “I am not so vital as yourself, Eminence.”

The larger crow nodded peremptorily. “Go prepare, trusted one.”

******************************************

Fingot flew awkwardly through the chaotic treetops, before he came to the nests tended by his daughter, Vronja. No sooner had he landed, than she was at his side. “Mitakaw moves for Captaincy, my father-lord? Akaaw has many other Captains.” she asked. He greatly respected her wisdom. He nodded.

“The time for preparing is done. He will be one of the strongest leaders, as it should be. Akaaw will not help but be impressed.”

The object of his ambitions descended through the treetops, a large crowd of crows about him. Two of the smaller ones came forward and flanked Fingot, but he ignored them.

“Very good, my son,” he said loudly. Mitakaw preened himself at the praise and puffed out his feathers. “Now, be strong and true, and make sure your flock is at the front of everything that we do. I shall remain with Akaaw.” He leant forward and whispered final instructions to his son and daughter before wearily taking flight again and returning to the tallest tree, where Akaaw was talking with many Captains.

[ December 13, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Bêthberry]

Bethberry joins the game.

Cheery, cheerful Pip'kha had been up for some time in the early dawn of light, checking out the damp ground for worms and grubs which the previous night's rain had forced to the surface. His pouch, just behind his tongue, was bursting with juicy morsels. He had eaten his fill and had quite thoughtfully decided to bring breakfast to his cousin Iadok, who tended to be a late riser.

"Urphka," burped the perennial adolescent as he saw Akaaw swoop down from the dawning horizon. He rubbed his head with his wing and wondered what this foretold. Akaaw's absences usually always brought some kind of adventure or journey in their wake and this quite excited Pip'kha. The last three had not been especially exciting or fruitful, but, still, a bird could always hope.

Pip'kha hopped over to where Iadok was sprawled out over an anthill, picking up ants in his feathers in his sleep. Iadok sometimes took such risks as sleeping on the ground, for he was prone to parasites and the ants gave him much relief.

"C'rec. C'rec," Pip'kha said to his cousin. "C'mon. Akaaw has been out scouting something. I sense an adventure. Just the thing for two smarts crows such as ourselves."

Iadoc looked up with one eye cocked at his cousin and the other at the sky, searching for some of the other young birds of the horde.

"Why does it always have to be morning when he starts his adventures? Wouldn't lunch be a more civilized time?" Iadoc croaked disconsolately to his cousin.

"Krhush! Don't let Akaaw hear you say that. He can be short-tempered if he suspects we are lazy."

The two flew up to a birch branch midway up a tree trunk and Pip'kha offerred some of his grubs to Iadoc, who crushed them eagerly and affectionately preened Pip'kha behind the ear in thanks.

[ December 15, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Anglachel]

“KaCaw! Caw!” cried Akaaw, and soon much of the murder had settled down in the nearest available tree in anticipation of what news their leader might have.

Brak recognized Krikaw returning from the forest floor for what must have been a hasty breakfast, and glided down to join him on a branch left empty for senior members of the flock, just below the nest of Akaaw.

Krikaw was a friend, introspected Brak as he picked his way along the branch to a spot where he could see and hear Akaaw clearly, probably because he was one of the few senior crows who could put up with his sarcastic humor on a regular basis. Sure there were younger crows who laughed at his antics, but they were just being obsequious. Those attempts at ingratiation only served to irk him rather than impress.

Brak found the spot he was looking for and was soon joined there by Krikaw. He cawed in greeting to his friend and quickly preened the underside of one of his wings before speaking his mind.

“So what do you think Saruman has in store for us?” whispered Brak, “another pointless journey to the ends of Middle Earth? Or does he just have some minor task for us this time, like peck out the eyes of all his enemies from here to the Icebay of Forochel?”

Before Krikaw could answer, Brak added to his musings, “Well, it can not be any worse than sitting around here watching those beastly half-wits chop down some fine nesting trees! Anyways, what rumor have you heard amongst the flock Krikaw?”

[Susan Delgado]

Krikaw settled on the branch next to Brak.
He paused a moment with his wings outstretched, feeling the sunlight filtering through the trees. His move nearly knocked someone else off the branch, but the bird was able to catch himself from falling with little more than a startled squawck, so Krikaw didn't worry overmuch about it.

"Well, what have you heard in the flock?" Brak asked.

Krikaw fluffed the feathers out on his neck and shook his head to smooth them back into place: a crebain shrug. "Not much," he murmered to Brak. "I always seem to find myself surrounded by crebain who are little more than chicks, and they don't know anything of worth." Brak nodded, understanding. Krikaw did his neck fluff again. He honestly didn't know what made him so popular among the youngest members of the flock. He continued, "I did see Akaaw flying toward the Master's tower, though, so I can only guess this mission is special, or the Master would have waited for Akaaw's normal check in later in the day, rather than summon him before dawn." Brak nodded again. That made sense. He was about to respond when a ripple went through the flock and somebody uttered a loud CAW!, though it was unclear who it was.

[ December 15, 2002: Message edited by: Susan Delgado ]

[ December 16, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[The Barrow-Wight]

Seeing that his captains were assembling their companies in the trees around him, Akaaw took a moment to dig in his nest for the stone he had been keeping for a day like today. It was buried among his many other keepsakes, but he soon found it and clasped it firmly in his beak. He jumped away from his perch and dropped directly to the base of his home tree, landing in a pile of dead leaves. There, he placed the stone gently on the ground and scratched among the detritus until he revealed a small cache of pebbles similar to the one beside him. Quickly, he placed the stone among the others and pushed the leaves back over them so they were once again concealed.

He closed his eyes and stood silently for a moment.
Tree and stone, Feather and bone
He opened his eys and tapped the tree thrice with his beak.

The hidden stones were part of a short ceremony that Akaaw performed each time he led the horde away from the valley. Starting when he had first gained his position as chief, he had always given an offering to the spirits of wood and stone. Though the rock of the valley remained silent and gave no notice of his gift, he was sure the trees understood. Many times he had heard them whispering, and he liked to think that they appreciated what he gave.

He looked up as his great murder began to rise into the air in great masses of fluttering wings. The morning sun was momentarily blotted out as they climbed higher and higher, circling in a great, black wheeling motion. Akaaw gave one last, silent prayer to good fortune and launched himself up to gather his leaders and begin the trek northward.

[ December 15, 2002: Message edited by: The Barrow-Wight ]

[Rimbaud]

Fingot nodded in approval as he saw Mitakaw, at the head of a fast moving group of strong crebain, carving through the flocking crows headed for the north. The group was far from the largest, yet it was the most controlled and purposeful. This mission would serve his son well, mused the old bird. As for me...

He sighed and launched from his branch. He swooped low, gathering momentum, barely avoiding branches that snapped into his path. It took fewer wing beats with the speed he picked up to wend his way up into the flock and search for Akaaw. He was nowhere to be seen. Fingot moved higher, above the black fluttering morass. He was straining his wings at this altitude, but it helped to see the pattern.

The direct path of Mitakaw's squadron had created a wedge, with his son at the tip. He clacked his beak with anxiety and swooped towards him. Akaaw would never forgive such presumption. He had to reach his ambitious fledgling first.

[ December 16, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Bêthberry]

"There is something grand in this," thought Pip'kha, wings rhythmically rising and falling, his tail feathers beating time to their pace. He could almost create a song out of that action; he had thought about it often when the flock first took flight. There was a moment when the whole world seemed to lift up with them and he felt they could drag it away behind them. The feeling never stayed long, but more and more Pip'kha wanted a memory of that feeling. He practiced the words.

C'rah, c'raaah,
c'rah, c'raaah,
c'roosh, sha.

It wasn't right. Maybe next time he would get it right. He banked south and coasted for a bit to think about it until a loud squawk from Iadoc alerted him to his position out of formation. He flapped at thumping rate for three or four wingstrokes to get back into line just before the younger crows started to guffaw at him.

"What did they know," Pip'kha thought as he strained his neck to signify his disdain of their mockery.

[Belin]

Kadwyr winged northward impatiently, ahead of those that followed him. This was the first time he'd been out as a captain, and his voice was louder yet than usual, and his wings felt stronger. Behind him straggled a company of apprehensive young crows, most of them on their first mission and all of them too slow for his taste.

He checked his flight, just slightly, just enough to hear what they were saying.

"Why?" croaked one, an irritating young bird that Kadwyr hardly knew. "Where are we going?"

"I know," boasted another. "I talk to Akaaw."

"Nah." This sentiment was widely and vocally echoed. Kadwyr, who agreed, called to them. "Come on! Come on!"

He heard the chatter in the company increase, mimicking him, but they flew no faster. He clacked irritably and quickly and quietly circled around behind them. Entirely too pleased with their own cleverness at Kadwyr's expense, they took for the moment no notice of Kadwyr himself.

A sensation ran through the company at the low and improbable sound of an owl's hoot. The groups of gossipers broke up, many of their younger members wheeling around in surprise, ready to attack. "Where? Where?" they cried, seeing nothing.

"Hah!" cried the liar, "an owl in broad daylight, near a murder this size? Ha!" But the as the younger crebain continued on their way, they seemed even more nervous than they'd been--and they were certainly more swift.

And suddenly, strangely, Kadwyr was ahead of them again, chuckling slightly.

[ December 17, 2002: Message edited by: Belin ]

[The Barrow-Wight]

Akaaw spotted the group of crows that suddenly pushed forward from the flock, distancing itself and acting as if it knew where it was going. He knew that it had to be Fingot’s whelp, for no one in the entire horde would be so presumptious or so stupid. The young bird was far too ambitious for his own good, and if he wasn’t careful, his actions were going to get him into trouble. Akaaw cackled in quiet laughter as he saw Fingot race to catch up with his son, no doubt to rein his favorite offspring in.

“Rakaak!” he cried to own son who flew near to him somewhere to his right. “You have the lead today.”

He motioned to the high Last Peak directly before them but still many leagues away.

“We will be turning right and spying a bit on the Entwood before crossing over into Dunland.”

Rakaak flew near and spoke, “I thought the Hand commanded us to search west of the mountains. Shouldn’t we be turning left?”

Akaaw suddenly swung right with a quick and violent motion and collided violently with his son. He grabbed him forcefully with his talons but did not sink them into the soft flesh of Rakaak’s back. With his wings disabled in the vice-like grip of his father, the young crow hung helplessly.

“You will do as I say!” Akkaw hissed into his son’s ear. “And you will never question me in front of others.”

He released the younger crow, and the creban plummeted several yards before regaining his composure enough to spread his wings. Without a word to his father, he gave a loud cry and sped westward, drawing the horde behind him and leaving the foolish Mitikaw flying far behind and in the wrong direction. Akaaw finally noticed that Fingot’s lad seemed to have an awfully large following this day.

“Ch’rrrp!” he commanded, and a young servant dropped immediately to his side.

“Go back to master Fingot and ask him to join me at his soonest convenience. I feel it is time he and I had a little chat.”

With a croak of acknowledgement, the servant sped off with his message.

[ December 17, 2002: Message edited by: The Barrow-Wight ]

[Rimbaud]

C'rawk! All was ruined! The young fool has doomed himself!

Fingot briefly debated leaving Mitakaw to his own tricks, but that would certainly doom the youngster and family ties were too strong. He knew Akaaw would be sending for him very soon. He had no fear for himself, but now he feared for Mitakaw, for Akaaw, as with all good chiefs, had a ruthless spirit when it came to competition.

Fingot issued a sharp and short command to the large bird on his left wing side, who sped off northward towards Mitakaw's separated flight of birds, now wheeling around in some disarray. The henchcrow, Gurdbik, was a lone speck in the grey sky between the black mass and its tiny divorced
neighbour.

Fingot worried now that the strong birds who had been wooed to join Mitakaw's leap for captaincy would now return to their old chiefs disgusted. Such events as the last few moments were high shame for a warrior creban. All those efforts wasted. Fingot was in a foul mood, and it did not improve.

He sighed and adjusted his flight as the messenger bird approached his flank. Fingot's other bodyguard looked menacingly over at the smaller bird, who flew with the nevous energy of one who lived at the beck and call of a fierce chief.

* * * * * * * * * *

"My liege?" said Fingot, cautiously, as he dipped to level with Akaaw's wing beats. The chief hardly looked exerted, his great wings flapping ominously slowly, a sure sign he was taking the flight slowly at present. All feared the legendary speeds the murder had to reach when the chief demanded it. Akaaw's close cadre of protective birds clacked and snapped as Fingot came among them and he was horrified to realise some were sneering at him. At me! I was a decade old when the oldest of these was yet unborn! He clacked fiercely back at them, and they fell silent. He was pleased to see he still held their respect. He still held the chief's ear too, he was pleased to realise, as Akaaw dipped his wing and dropped a few feet below his guards; a sign Fingot knew well from the three years of Akaaw's leadership.

"Yes, my liege?" asked Fingot.

"Your son," said the chief, looking straight ahead, flying almost nonchanantly.

Fingot, whose wings were already aching from the strain, replied hastily. "Sire, he is young and merely foolish. I have not given him proper instruction..."

"You give him the most instruction, of all your fledglings," said his chief, still not looking at all at his advisor.

Fingot clacked his beak nervously. "What would you have of me, Sire? What advice can I offer thee?"

[ December 17, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Bêthberry]

After the romance of departure had worn off, Pip'kha kept formation with Iadok and Brak, breaking into the sky with a regular rhythm. The three were in the same company, two older crebains who knew what they were about and the one younger. On previous flights, they had actually captained the fledglings Brak and Kadwyr, but Kadwyr now had his own company.

The three crowketeers, they were teased by the others, but who cared. They soared now in unison almost without thought. The elder were old wings at it, and their experience counted for much, without becoming mere reflex. Iadoc had caught the higher turbulence and for the most part the company sailed relatively easily, conserving energy and watching Mitakaw show off. Confident, neither of the three needed that edge to bring the best out of them. There were bigger battles ahead and they were experienced enough now to know to pace themselves. Besides, they didn't know for sure what Akaaw had in mind and until they knew, it was steady and sure.

Green forest blurred into golden grain field as they flew and of like mind they swooped down slightly to take advantage of the warmer air below. From the corner of his eye, Akaaw observed them, confident at least that this company would not require a close watch.

"So, where're we off to?" chirped Pip'kha over the sound of the wind to Brak. Brak shrugged, not caring to hazard a guess.

"Wherever it is, it's somewhere important. Akaaw didn't waste much time getting us airborne," suggested Iadoc. "And we're not going through the Breech but into the head winds. I have a bad feeling about this. We aren't going to be staying near the Isen."

"We're getting ahead of Krikaw. We should stall for a bit," said Pip'kha.

"Nah," retorted Brak. "Let him work to keep up with us." Then he chortled a bit. "Let's see if he or Kadwyr remember that maneuver we developed last year." He cocked his head left and the company swerved, slicing the horizon and peeling it back, and then they dropped, watching to see if the other companies caught on.

[ December 20, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[The Barrow-Wight]

Akaaw watched proudly as his son aptly led the horde over the spur of mountainous hills that jutted southeastward from the foot of Methedras. The rugged highlands were topped with great, jagged boulders, and their eastern shoulders were blanketed in thick stands of the ancient trees of Fangorn forest. The woodland spread outward from the mountains in a great field of dark green that contrasted sharply with the golden plains of Rohan.

Drawing his attention back to the old crow beside him, Akaaw said quietly “Fingot, we have know each other for a long time. My father served honorably with you, as did my grandfather and his father.You have outlasted all of them as well as many of your own offspring, but your great family continues to grow, as does your wisdom.”

The old crow clicked agreement and ruffled his chest feathers in appreciation of the respectful remark. Less complimentary remarks were surely to follow, but this young leader understood the ways of diplomacy. Akaaw continued.

“Mitikaw is a popular creban, and he has gained quite a following of young crows, but it takes more than a cackling claque of crows to be a leader, as you know. It takes courage, wisdom, and …”

His attention was momentarily drawn to something far below among the trees, and he seemed to forget his conversation with the old crow.

“What is it, trusted chief?” asked Fingot. “My old eyes are not what they once were.”

Akaaw turned back to the ancient creban, and continued.. “Your son need not seek opportunities to demonstrate his prowess on this journey. Danger will surely present itself many times.”

He smiled and motioned below. “It appears opportunity has arrived. Excuse me, Sparrowbane”

The crebain leader darted forward to where his son flew at the front of the horde. The young bird was flying with his eyes closed, as if he was sleeping, and Akaaw clacked loudly to gain his attention . Rakaak opened his eyes slowly and looked at his father.

“What is it?” he asked, rudely.

“Are you dreaming, sparrow?” Akaaw asked the boy, angry that he had been napping. Without waiting for a reply, he continued. “Wake up, young one, and look below. Tell me what you see.”

Rakaak stared downward for a few moments and answered, “Trees.”

Akaaw replied with an irritated grunt, “Yes, of course you see trees, so many trees. Look harder, lad!”

Again, Rakaak peered downard, and after several seconds let out a quiet “Aaaak.”

“Now you see!” hissed Akaaw. “Describe what is below us!”

Rakaak answered. “I see the ancient and tall trees of Fangorn spreading out in a great carpet from the mountains to the plains. But below us, where the grass, trees, and rock come together, there is a great barren area where once was leaves and branch.”

“Yes! Go on!”

“There is movement in the treeless area, many creatures running among dead stumps. Several fires are burning near the plains, and… Wait! …. Horses are riding across the grassy hills, many together with Men on their backs. Is this a battle, father?”

“It soon will be,” croaked Akaaw. “The yellow-hairs approach our master’s axemen. Lead us below to get a closer look.”

[ December 20, 2002: Message edited by: The Barrow-Wight ]

[Anglachel]

Pip’kha, Iadoc, and Brak swerved smoothly across the horizon, their company following. They were anticipating a response from Kadwyr and Krikaw when Iadoc cawed to the others for attention.

“There is movement down below. Something is afoot,” said Iadoc.

Brak turned his attention immediately to the situation below, all thoughts of games retreating within him, being replaced by a calm clarity that dominated his senses when intense situations arose. After quickly surveying the scene, he turned to Pip’kha and Iadoc. “It seems the murder will not be going hungry today,” he snickered.

At that moment, Rakaak, under the guidance of Akaaw, begin to circle lower towards the scene of the impending battle. The yellow haired men riding horses had been spotted by the orc axemen, and shouts and cries had gone up from both parties.

“It appears Akaaw wishes us to partake in this skirmish,” said Brak to Pip’kha and Iadoc. “Personally, I am disgusted by the taste of orc meat, and man flesh is only marginally more appetizing. Yet, horse meat is quite a treat if the orcs do not get to it first. Ah, but I would rather stay away from the doings of these creatures. I do not know why Akaaw wishes to mettle in the affairs of orcs. They do not make good allies.”

Brak slowed his flight momentarily and looked over to his companions, “Shall we move the company into attack formation?”

[ December 23, 2002: Message edited by: Anglachel ]

[Bêthberry]

A caw went out among Akaaw's muster as each company perceived the impending attack of orc, man and horse. The crebain circled the once green and grassy plain, weaving forth and back in response to the twisting currents of smokey, hot air from the fires. "Why did every battle site come to look like Mordor?" thought Pi'kha as he watched the ash and soot settle onto the plain.

Pip'kha always tasted an ominous sense of implacable doom whenever he observed orcs in motion, a sour taste rising in his beak and a hot hand squeezing his heart, a pain almost comforting as his strongest muscle beat faster and harder. Pounding orc feet battered the earth--what trees still stood shook in retort--as if mere sound would carry the battle. Sometimes it did, Pip'kha knew, for he had seen beast and man panic and flee even before the orcs had made contact in an assault.

But this was the orcs' sole advantage. Pip'kha could never understand why the only maneuver of the orcs was this one of relentless forward motion. They just roiled and moiled, a black avalanche tearing down everything in its path. Orcs never seemed to regroup and move around their foes, testing for weaknesses, feinting attacks, drawing off enemies to weaken the main contingent.

The strawheads on horseback could do this and often would. They gleemed and glinted as the sun reflected off their helmets and breastplates. Pip'kha had to squint and look away, so bright the men appeared to his dark-entrusted eyes. He wondered if this happened to the orcs, too. The horses would bank left and right with purpose; they seemed to understand the same point of movement and stealth and attack which Akaaw and Fingot had taught the crows.

Pip'kha shuddered and stalled in his epiphany. Maybe the men were as smart as crows.

Brak's voice called him out of his numbed reflection and he caught his descent, flew up, and positioned himself to the left of Akaaw, as he had been taught in practice past. The sky whirled around him as he considered for the first time ever the possibility of defeat at the hands of an astute, alert, naturally quick enemy.

[Belin]

Kadwyr peered anxiously at the armies. He remembered the moves he'd been taught, he was almost certain of it--that is, if these youngsters would leave him a moment to think. They flocked around him, apparently forgetting everything they'd ever learned about formations or demeanor. They crowded together, staring downward, murmuring. A real battle!

Impatiently, Kadwyr snapped at them. "You know better!" he cried. "Don't you remember anything? Weren't you--" His eye fell upon Brak. The older crow had somehow gotten his followers in order and was already in place. "Look at that!" called Kadwyr. "They remember!"

"We remember! We know!" they chorused.

"Well, come on!"

They sped to the fore, quick and high. Young, swift, and more expendable than the other crows, they were to be the first that the armies would see.

A tense silence settled over them. The orcs pressed ahead, never looking up. It was entirely possible that the straw-heads would be the first to see them. The crebain flew on, smoothly, trying, thought Kadwyr, to concentrate. It was certainly more than he could do. He looked over his shoulder at Pip'kha, who had captained him with the greatest good humor and a certain self-control that had, at the time, impressed Kadwyr as fearlessness, and he was startled to see the older bird looking troubled for the moment or two before he caught Kadwyr's eye and nodded encouragingly at him.

Kadwyr faced forward,unable to regain his composure and terrified of the perception of his followers. "Think of the eyes," he muttered, "think of the eyes."

[ December 28, 2002: Message edited by: Belin ]

[The Barrow-Wight]

Far below the crebanic horde, but growing closer as it plummeted earthward, the horsemen of Rohan rode full speed into a hastily erected square of orcish axe-wielders. Undisciplined and unprepared for such an assault, the goblin lumberjacks split like a chopped piece of firewood, and the cavalrymen charged over and through them, dividing them neatly in half. The horse soldiers, like their enemy but with deadlier purpose, split left and right, each turning a tight circle to override their remaining foes. They lowered their lances again as they charged.

Still nearer, for the crows were almost upon the scene, the twin groups of rushing horsemen seemingly stumbled, and much of their forward motion was checked as they dodged a hail of black arrows that rained out of the forest edge. Uruk archers, until then hidden in the undergrowth and unseen, fired volley after volley of deadly darts into the midst of the Rohirrim, and many of the Men and horses fell and did not rise. Those that remained mounted crashed again through the axemen, but this time they had less effect and suffered more casualties. Those warriors that rose from their unhorsing found themselves between the bloodied orcs with axes and the angry Uruk-hai that continued to menace them with arrows.

Mere yards beneath the talons of Akaaw, for he and his massive murder had at last descended so far, the Rohan cavalry swung around again, this time with shields raised to defend against the deadly hail from the forest’s edge. The two forces joined together in one mass of horses, wounded and hale, and rode to the rescue of their trapped brethren. Their horses plummeted into the gap where the fallen soldiers stood valiantly, and , one by one, each standing warrior was scooped up by a rider. Still, many fell pierced by arrow or hewn by notched axe, but many more escaped to a safe distance where they turned to face their enemy. The Uruk-hai, more than 50 strong, traded their bows for blades and rushed in pursuit of the fleeing straw-heads.

Inches above the fray, Akaaw gave his commands!

“Krikaw and Kadwyr! Lead your companies after the fleeing horsemen. Harry their retreat until the Uruks can catch them!”

“Pip’kha, over the hill and have a look for more horses. Another force of them approaches!”

“Brak, check the forest. These trees are treacherous and may aid our enemies!”

“Fingot, you and your cronies come with me for a bit of the spoils.”

With his orders given and the horde split into three distinct wedges, Akaaw dove to the wounded body of a still moaning Man and pecked violently into its face until its movements ceased. Fingot and the older birds that formed his entourage settled onto the carcass of a great horse pierced with many arrows. They tore into its rent flesh with a vigor that belied their age.

Akaaw looked up from where he feasted and spoke to Fingot, who was near. “Let us fill our bellies while the young ones assist in adding to our table.”

“Aye,” croaked the ancient crow, a long strip of horse flesh dangling from his beak. “Let us hope they provide a bountiful harvest. We will need much strength for our journey, and such plentiful pickings will be hard to find west of the mountains.”

[ December 28, 2002: Message edited by: The Barrow-Wight ]

[Bêthberry]

"Stinking, pestilent crows," swore the wounded strawhead as he rose up, sword in hand, to smash both Akaaw and Fingot at their feast. He never made it.

"Kraaaawwck," screeched Pip'kha as he dove and then ripped with his talons the hand holding the sword, flying up and then returning to rend the face of the horsemen in bloody shreds. The strawhead fell back in surprise and torment as a startled Akaaw, Fingot and the other older crebain rose into the air, streaks of blood and flesh mottling their feathers.

Pip'kha hovered near them at first, but he knew better than to make any retort, and so he then, wordlessly, flew on to catch up with his company, now nearing the top of the hill.

Iadoc turned slightly to watch him, a knowing glance in his yellow eye. "Old big bellies make blind eyes," he murmured. Pip'kha shrugged one wing without missing a beat. "We cannot underestimate these horsemen," was his only reply.

As they rose scarce yards over the top of the green hill they were met by a troup of horsemen, riding hard, shields raised but swords and spears down. Pip'kha squawked out a command and the company circled tighter and then seemed to fly right into the horsemen, rising suddenly only at the last moment once the horsemen had given way and broken rank. Yet three of the crows had left their ascent too late and smashed into shields, falling with shattered bodies to the ground.

At that moment, Mitikaw appeared with his company and prepared to swoop down on the horsemen, talons outstretched. They barely missed Pip'kha's group and Pip'kha spun around, furious at the arrogance of Fingot's son.

"Stupid bird," he cried, "trying to claim this action as your own and nearly killing us. You'll never make leader that way." He hissed his words into Mitikaw's wings and overflew him, throwing the other crow into a mild spin. Then he wheeled around high in the air, drawing his company after him, and dove once again with them into the herd of strawheads, who this time had their swords up. But the crows aimed now for the horses' head, for that blind spot shortly in front of their eyes, and the horses were spooked, scattering and forcing their riders into pulling up reins and stopping their forward march. A final pass saw Pip'kha's group streak towards the animals' haunches, ripping horse flesh as they dared low dives. Some, again, misjudged their distance and were downed by the battering swords which were scrambled in the air.

Yet Pip'kha had chosen his attacks well and his losses remained small. He and Iadoc climbed high, bringing the company with them and emitting a cackling retort of bravado towards Mitikaw's group, which had not been able to maneuvre fast enough to join the attack, which they had never practiced before.

Mitikaw had been bested and embarassed in front of his company and he seethed with anger. But off in the distance he could see Akaaw watching. He did nothing, for now.

[Anglachel]

Arrows cascaded onto the unsuspecting yellow haired men and their horses, watched Brak from above with both surprise and approval, and the tide of the battle turned distinctly in favor of the orcs.

That was a bold yet smart tactic by the orcs, thought Brak, it must be that these Uruk-Hai are smarter than the others. Indeed, it appeared from this perspective that the horse men were fighting for survival and all efforts for an offensive had withered.

“Brak, check the trees!” commanded Akaaw, immediately drawing Brak thoughts away from his inner musings.

“Team, form up and follow me!” cried Brak as he and a section of crows swooped away from Pip’kha and Iadoc, whose teams were already banking hard the opposite direction.

With the speed and maneuverability that only a well trained company could exhibit, Brak and his team arrowed into the forest of thickly woven trees. Though the tightly knit boughs left little room for evasive maneuvers, the company shot through the woods with a perfection that could only come with battle time adrenaline. “Spread out!” yelled Brak.

After several moments of intense searching, Brak turned his team back towards the site of the battle. There was little to be seen in the forest but remnants of where the Uruk-Hai archers were hiding. He was about to lead them out to join the other companies when two of the yellow haired came into view, helping a third into the cover of the trees. Brak gave a loud battle caw and swooped down, claws outstretched, with his company close behind.

The horse men did not expect this attack. Before they could gather their wits and attempt to defend themselves, the claws of the crebain ripped into hands and faces causing screams of pain and dropped weapons. The three men stumbled back towards the open field, the two still trying assisting the third, but each of them tripping over roots or falling to one knee while trying to regain balance. When they finally reached the ends of the tree cover, large Uruk-Hai were already waiting for them, weapons drawn, as they were alerted to their presence by their screams. The orcs made quick work of the nearly defenseless men and then hastily departed to seek more worthy opponents.

Brak nodded to himself on a nearby tree where he and his company had settled to watch the conclusion of the affair, and knew that they had done their work well. “Well done team,” said Brak, “now to see how the others are fairing.”

With that he launched off the tree followed closely by his company. They left the forest shelter and sped off in the direction of their nearest colleagues.

[The Barrow-Wight]

Akaaw glared angrily at Pip’khaw and Iadoc as they flew over the hill, then cackled a quiet insult to himself. The wretched strawhead should have been dead from the deep wounds he had suffered, but its sudden attack had almost killed the big crow. Pip’s arrival had been fortuitous, but it had surprised Akaaw nearly as much as the warrior’s sudden resurrection. Frightened, angered and embarrassed, the old crow had caught the amusement in Iadoc’s eye and would not forget it.

He hovered a moment high above the scene of the event and waited for Fingot and his fellows to approach. At this height, no yellow-hair could harm them, nor could any stray Uruk arrow fly so far. Akaaw watched with pleasure as Pip’khaw led his company in a daring feint that delayed the fresh horse soldiers a while. He cringed slightly and cawed in dismay as several crebain fell, but his attitude improved when he watched Mitikaw’s group miss its mark altogether. Seeing the impertinent sparrow humbled yet again chased all ill feelings against Pip high into the sky where they scattered into the clouds.

“Look how Brak drives the strawheads into the arms of the Uruks,” remarked Fingot, obviously trying to distract attention from his son’s most recent folly.

“Yes,” replied Akaaw. “Brak has many moons of experience and the full confidence of his company. He is a fine and respected bird, whom all under him trust with their lives. Look how he leads them skillfully, but without bravado.”

Fingot croaked that he agreed, but he clacked his tongue to stop any further remark that might escape his beak. It was clear that Akaaw was enjoying the missteps of his son, and the ancient crow was beginning to feel anger creeping into his craw.

The crow chieftain noticed that his comments had bitten deeper than intended, and he tried to lessen the blow by noting, “But look! Brak is too eager and flies to join the others when I commanded him to ‘ware the trees.” He shook his head in an exaggerated gesture of disappointment, watching to see that Fingot was looking. “I guess its up to us to make sure things are done right. Follow.”

Akaaw led the small group of older birds and their servants, no more than 30 crows all together, into a sharp dive that quickly brought them under the dark eaves of Fangorn Forest. Here the battle had already passed, and only corpses and splatters of drying blood showed that there had recently been a fight. A small wind blew among the fallen leaves, but the woodland remained strangely quiet. The noises of the battle still raging not far away were hushed as if miles distant.

The crebain sailed among the twisted branches of the forest, keeping within eyesight of the area cleared by the orc axemen. Akaaw did not want to risk getting too far under the trees, for the trees themselves were unfriendly to vistors that were not invited. The sun was fast heading westward, and the horde would need to roost soon. The last thing everyone would want was to sleep among the high grasses of the plains, and if he could be sure no tree-herders were near, the crebain should be safe among the leaves for one night.

[Rimbaud]

The dark and muggy airs of the forest felt oppressive to Fingot. He shifted uncomfortably on the branch he had alighted upon. This day had been an embarrassment to him, an affront to his dignity. He saw how Mitakaw's incaution had cost him dear. He decided, with his customary ruthlessness, to limit any damage. The young bird was on his own now; Fingot had his own position to worry about and other family members to protect and support.

He shook his head and ruffled his wings. He stretched out with his senses, taking the time for observation that younger birds would not. With his mind more clear, things started to click for him.

He knew tales of Fangorn that would cause others to flee in terror. He remembered one bird who had come back to him, a spy he had sent, oh...so many seasons past, an errand to dispose another chief. Another lifetime. The messenger creban had been tattered and weary, his eyes streaked with fear. His garbled tales of monstrous darkness, and trees that strangled crows sounded ridiculous, but Fingot had never forgotten the fear in the bird. The spy had died that same night, he recalled, clacking his beak irritably.

The air seeemed suffocatingly thick around them. The air was like mulch, he opened his beak wide to try and draw breath. He saw others of his retinue swaying as they sat. Akaaw seemed unaffected, sitting on the outermost tree, peering out at the battle with his keen eyes. With a shock, Fingot realised their number had fallen from the thirty. Birds were missing. Where was Grubclaw? Keka?

He gathered himself, his fear threatening to overwhelm him. He shook his head as he watched the chieftan. The branch that Akaaw was sitting on was curling and twisting, ever so slowly. The slender branches from the main bough appeared to be turning to imprison the large chief creban.

With a fumbled and hasty take-off, Fingot launched himself directly at Akaaw with a great "Carawk!". He heard and felt the birds around him rising up and fluttering in panic. Branches lashed through the air, and a great roaring could be heard. A smaller crow beside him was struck down by an imposibly agile branch, that swept down, the breath of its passing nearly knocking Fingot off-wing. The forest floor seemed fluid, roots writhing in the dirt.

He struck Akaaw in a flurry of feathers and tree bark. The chief flapped and cawed with great anger as they toppled from the branch. He felt leaves on his back and a great pressure on his leg and he felt himself falling.

Then, his mind paled away and all was darkness.

[ January 03, 2003: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Belin]

Kadwyr glanced anxiously at the anxious group of birds that followed him. They kept tight together as they sped forward, seeming to master themselves slightly at the definitive nature of their task.

The horsemen were swift, but the crebain were swifter. They overtook them almost immediately, Krikaw and his company from one side and Kadwyr's crows from the other. They dove toward them, nearly mirroring each other's movements as Kadwyr's group checked everything they were doing against Krikaw. They descended upon the warriors, calling loudly, enveloping them in a great cloud of sharp claws and dark bodies. The horses panicked--most of them.

"Eschkor! Kaw! Stop them!" cried Kadwyr frantically, hoping they'd see the two strawheads that had dismounted and were methodically and purosefully leading their horses out of the melee. Eschkor wheeled toward him immediately, escaping a spear and staring rather blankly at Kadwyr. Kaw took no notice of him at all. "There!" Kadwyr told him. Was the bird blind? "Them!"

Kadwyr sighed in relief as Eschkor dove toward them and was soon joined by others. Now where had Krikaw gone?

There--he was taunting a spearman, circling a bare feather's distance from the dangerous blade. "Krikaw!" he screamed. "Look at this!"

The older bird ignored him, moving in quickly for an attack on the warrior. Kadwyr fumed. Did it matter how important his news was?

"Krikaw!" he screamed again. "You there! Look!"

As the warrior fell, Krikaw flew toward him, apparently as furious as he was. "Listen, you young sparrow," he began, "do you understand what we're doing here?"

"I had a question." Kadwyr let the words fall flatly and evenly. Let Krikaw see that he was angry; why not? "Look at that. Where are they going?"

"Who cares? They've been stopped. Call me out of battle again and we'll see who's clever at noticing things. Do you have a question about that?"

Without an answer, Kadwyr dropped toward where the horsemen had been, noticing in passing the bloodied and trampled body of Kaw. See what comes of not listening? passed briefly through his mind as the Uruks arrived.

[Bêthberry]

Pip'kha was not long to swagger in rivalry and bravado over Mitikaw. It was only the tumult of battle which brought out the anger at error in him rather than his affectionate good nature.

"We shouldn't leave Mitikaw fuming in anger," he commented to Iadoc as they circled the hilltop, looking for a safe place to land, after the strawheads had retreated in disarray.

"Why not? He deserves it," chirped Iadoc. He almost killed me and Rik'ki'kew. He should know better than that." He headed down, towards the dark, broken bodies that had been crows in the company, Crec, Beka,and Nakoo.

"Yes, but he knows that all too well right now. We don't need to rub it in any more; I don't think he is the kind to think kindly when he has been humiliated. I don't want to make enemies," Pip'kha replied, settling down on the ground beside their fallen brethren after Iadoc had landed.

"Oh, sure, think about him why don't you. Never mind me and the tail feathers I lost; the fright I had; how hard it will be to face that maneuver again." Iadoc was waxing eloquent, but before he could go further Pip'kha gave a hearty laugh and hopped right into his cousin, knocking him down, and the two crebain rolled over and over in the sand until they were both giddy and chortling, the other members of the company perched around them and yelling, "Tumble, tumble."

"Get off with you, " cawed Pip'kha. "We still have a battle to watch out for, you dumb crows." But the strawheads had disappeared and after the long flight and the battle, everyone began to feel hungry. They remembered the feeding which Akaaw and Fingot had had. Pip'kha sensed their mood and responded.

"To Akaaw and Fingot fall the spoils of the battle, but to us falls the most honourable feeding. We won't leave our companions for vultures or maggots. We feast on our fallen brothers and sisters so that their bravery lives on in us."

With those words, Pip'kha fell to eating the crebain who had fallen in the skirmish, followed by Iadoc, then Rik'ki' kew and the rest of the company. When they looked up from their pecking and nibbling, they saw Mitikaw's company landing nearby. Pip'kha nodded his beak at Mitikaw, with at least a civil greeting, and then scanned the air and ground least strawheads sneak up on them.

[ January 06, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Rimbaud]

The edge of the forest was in turmoil, the earth roiling and twisting. Huge groans emanated from the darkly writhing forms within. Birds scattered from the treetops in blind fear and panic. Those on the ground nearby took to flight in alarm and the sky was become a mess, birds wheeling and fluttering, colliding. A small number of crebain flew in paths so erratic, that they struck the earth in their panicked wheeling, their vision compromised by others of the murder. Several crows had wounds that did not allow them smooth flight. Some remained ominously earthbound.

Akaaw opened a beady eye, cautiously. Not a wingspan away from him lay the mottled and crumpled shape of his advisor, abnormally still. He felt a sadness swell within him.

*******************************************

Mitakaw had launched into the air when the panic calls had begun; now the noise was deafening, a screeching and cawing that threatened to rent the clouds above. There was no sign of Akaaw, or his chief lieutenants. He could not discern his father either. The young creban caught they eye of those of his once proud retinue that remained loyal to him as he flew, gesturing and urging for height. After a buffeting from the wings of the tumultuous sky, they cleared the morass of black chaos and rose above, into the chill grey air.

He cawed, loudly and insistently, the gathering call, and strove for more height. Many of the murder now came up, attracted by the command in his call. A fierce pride blossomed within him as he sensed the order he laid on them taking shape. Others around him sensed his growing control and joined in his call, and the skies gathered some small pattern. He was pleased with the effect of his will, but knew he was at risk should it appear that he was taking control. Already, he sensed strong minds in the flock streaking for him, with malice aforethought.

Mitakaw sent his brothers Narkub and Fingotin to the forests edge and they plummeted down, wings tucked into their bodies, trying to get as much speed for the fly-past as they could. They fell from the sky, two black dots dropping from the great circle, wheeling below the clouds.

********************************************

When, finally, he felt as though the murder was moving of one mind, as the single entity it should be, Mitakaw took them down, some half-mile from the battle ground and away from the edge of the forest. He had learnt some in the last few days and knew he was not ready to challenge Akaaw, should the strong crow still live. He wished he could have his father's counsel. He cautioned the murder to look out for itself and settled to the wait, trying not to appear nervous.

[ January 08, 2003: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Belin]

Kadwyr had done his job. The Uruks were here. He called to his company, squawking and harrying to get them out of the battle--Orcs were not known for their care in distinguishing friend from foe—-and vaguely noticing, with surprise, how many of Krikaw’s followers were still in the midst of the melee. Well, that was his business. He had enough to do with distracting his own. Korag, the liar, had interested several of the more zealous youngsters in the torment of the horses, and in their taunting, absorbing dance around heads and hooves had failed to notice the larger doings of the battle. Kadwyr snapped briefly at Korag and at one or two others who had landed on the outer fringes of the fight as soon as Kadwyr began to pull them out, having decided that it was already time to claim their prey.

Leaving Eschkor to gather the last of the stragglers, Kadwyr swept upward to join the others in their circling, more or less watching the back and forth clash of the battle. So inelegant, he thought, compared to his own work. He glanced away, toward where the others were, wondering how soon they should rejoin Akaaw—and there was that rider again. They’d only stopped one of the two, after all.

Kadwyr’s bright eyes looked further still, and he realized, finally, the answer to his question.

There were more of them, or the same ones, riding from some other skirmish, or some other part of this one, and it was toward them that he rode.

Instantly, Kadwyr dove toward him, adapting without criticism the tactics of Korag. He wasn’t far. The wings beating around its head and the claws grazing its soft nose threw the horse into a panic to equal Kadwyr’s own. He hardly heard the rider’s groans silenced by the sharp hooves of the horse over the chorus in his mind of I knew it, I knew it, I knew it—but if they see us?

Horrified, he wheeled back, calling, “Down! Back!”

Croaking, confused, Kadwyr’s company nevertheless moved off toward where they had left the others, much to his relief. The strawheads could find their way yet, perhaps, but Akaaw could never say it was his fault.

[ January 09, 2003: Message edited by: Belin ]

[The Barrow-Wight]

Akaaw had no time to mourn the death of his ancient friend, if indeed the old bird was no longer living, nor did he have a moment to even check for signs of life. Grasping fingers of bud-tipped bark whipped about him, and a particularly large, woody limb swatted him soundly, rolling him like a ball into the grass and, as luck would have it, out of the reach of the vengeful trees. He looked back, stunned, to where other crows of Fingot’s cadre were tossed, smashed, ripped, and beaten. Only a few, far too few, escaped to flutter tiredly out to their leader’s side.

Panting and sweating terribly from anger and fear, and still mindful of the danger of the trees, Men, and untrustworthy orcs, Akaaw commanded the miniscule murder to the sky and up to an altitude beyond immediate danger. Everyone eagerly followed, and soon six old, weary crebain wheeled above the battlefield to assess what must next be done. Akaaw shook his head sorrowfully at the loss of so many fine crows.

Below, the fighting between Man and Orc had ended with many dead on all sides, but the forces of Isengard held the field while the few horsemen of Rohan that were not lying in the golden grass were fleeing westward. Everywhere, the ground was black with feasting crows and drying blood. The time had come to gather the murder so they might continue their journey.

Akaaw descended slowly and cried out to his captains as he landed at the edge of the flock, far away from the celebrating goblins.

“Come to me now, before the sun sets and we are clawing among these cursed grasses in the dark. Come!”

One by one, his surviving leaders reported in with full bellies and mournful eyes. Many crows had been lost in the fighting.

[ January 10, 2003: Message edited by: The Barrow-Wight ]

[Susan Delgado]

Krikaw watched the murder follow Akaaw into the sky and croaked a farewell, for he would not be following. Never again would he soar majestically through the sky, for in the last battle he'd broken his left wing. More than broken it; it was nearly severed and hung useless, dragging on the ground.
No, like so many others of the murder, he would be here and when night came some creature of the woods come for the feast would find him and put an end to him. Dismally, he returned to the body before him, delicately digging his beak into the entrails, for he'd already picked the eyes. He fluttered his remaining wing and waited for the end.

[Anglachel]

After their successful foray into the woods, events did not go well for Brak and his crew. Though they flew from the trees triumphantly, fortune did not continue to smile upon these crebain. As often is the case in battle, elation can turn to sorrow in a mere heartbeat.

By the time Brak had organized his company for the next wave of aerial assaults, it was clear that the horse lords were not going to win this battle. A general retreat had already begun and there was only one small group still engaged in battle. These warriors had arranged themselves in a ring, completely surrounded by orcs, but were doing an adequate job of holding their opponents at bay. Brak decided that he and his crows would be the ones to break the stalemate.

It was a sound decision at the time. The attacking Uruks only needed a small window with which to breach the defenses of the ring. Brak’s crows would provide this distraction. However, the timing of Brak’s decision turned out to be most unfortunate. At the same instance he spurred his comrades onward in a diving attack, a group of Uruks had retrieved their bows and fired a volley of black arrows into the melee.

It was a completely irrational strategy, so Brak never considered it would occur. No trained archer would purposely fire an arrow into an area where he could hit his own colleague. But these were not rational beings. These were Uruks. They were bent on a single purpose: to utterly defeat their enemies. To this end they would not think twice about sacrificing their own kind.

Brak had only a split second to contemplate this as the deadly arrows fell among his company. He squawked to his colleagues to take evasive action and cut hard upwards. Nevertheless, the intently focused crows had trouble shifting purpose that quickly and many could not avoid the arrows. As Brak banked skyward, he did not miss how many of his soldiers went down, black-feathered shafts protruding from their bodies.

When the surviving company circled back to survey the damage, the battle was already over. The arrows had accomplished their purpose, but at a high cost to the crebain. The victorious orcs had already begun to scavenge the spoils for meat, signaling that it was time for the murder to be leaving.

Brak was angrily mumbling to himself about the hazards of being allied with orcs when he caught sight of something that numbed his mind with shock. There on the ground, amongst the mortally wounded crows who could no longer take flight, was Krikaw. He was taking what appeared to be his last meal. Even from this height, Brak could see that one of his wings was completely useless. He almost turned around right then to see if he could help his old friend, but he knew that the honorable way of the crebain was to let Krikaw face his end as he saw fit.

As he continued to fly away from the scene of his friend’s impending death, Brak allowed grief to wash through him. Though he was nearly always in control of his emotions, the shock of the last few events was too much even for this stoic crow. He knew his company would suffer losses, it was inevitable in battle. But, he always just assumed Kirkaw, Pip’kha, Iadoc, and his other friends would be there. The loss of Krikaw was hard to accept. It blasted holes into the curtain of indestructibility that always seem to cover Brak and his friends when they took chances.

Brak may have dwelled upon the stark reality of mortality for some time had duty not brought him back to his senses. There was responsibility that came with being a captain in the murder, which was why Akaaw had chosen him. He needed all his faculties for the upcoming journey. He had allowed himself a brief period of mourning, but that time must end as new challenges awaited. His company would look to him as their leader and he must not let them down. Focus returned to Brak as he formed up his team and prepared to lead them into whatever dangers may lie ahead.

[ January 11, 2003: Message edited by: Anglachel ]

[Rimbaud]

Even the soft haze of the dimming light seemed an assault on his senses. All was fugged, indistinct, a tumult was within him, of pain and confusion. One of his wings flapped awkwardly, the other bent beneath his body; his limbs shifted, as bewildered as the mind. Slowly, sense and instinct returned, and with them, the urge to be airborne.

He struggled to his clawed feet, scrabbling and flapping aand cursing. His head swam. A nauseating red mist danced before his eyes and he found it difficult to focus on the unusual shapes and forms scattered beyond the veil. He felt light-headed yet heavy-bodied, as if miasmas of pain dragged him down divergent paths.

He staggered a little on reaching an upright status. He could feel earth and leaves slicked damply upon his feathers, and encrusting his beak. Awkwardly he tried to preen, slowly at first and then frantically as he realised his great exposure, blind and upright and immobile on the ground.

Peculiarly, he felt that his wings were undamaged, although bruised. He judged flight would be painful but not impossible, and at his age, such a state was not unusual to him.

He shook his head with an instinctive 'caw' and forced his sense to his command. He sat on a plain of death, amongst the broken bodies of men, orc and crebain. A fierce lust grew within him, a brief taste of youth.

********

Take-off was a struggle, and a sensory nightmare, but he managed it. Once airborne, and awkwardly striving for height, he scanned the darkening skies for fellows, but found none. Mitatkaw would not have deserted him so easily, he judged. He decided to search northwards, which at least would have been the direction of the main murder.

So he flew, slowly, a bedraggled and vulnerable old crow, making his last journey. Behind him, amongst the corpses, some way from the main battle-field, Mitakaw and his cohorts searched in vain for Fingot Sparrowbane, oldest of the crebain.

[ January 17, 2003: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Bêthberry]

Red, carmine and scarlet streaks washed over the sky as the mountains eclipsed the fading sun. Soon, it would be too dark to find a suitable roost and the entire flock would be at risk on the open field.

Pip'kha rose from his feeding and called his cadre to attention, to spread out and collect the lost crebain from Krikaw's company. Slowly circling in the sky, he cawed his position to Iadoc, Rik'ki'kew, Kadwyr, and Brak, whose slow circumnavigation of the battlefield drew the leaderless crows into the larger murder. With a silent slide and swoop, Pip'kha flew in amongst them, dividing them among the cadres left and assuming the places of those crebain who had fallen in battle.

A swarm materialized, with Mitikaw's cadre not far behind, which flew on towards the rasping 'Ckkrick, ckkkrick' of Akaaw, who could barely be seen in the shadowed trees. Pip'kha could not find Fingot, but the other elders were settled near Akaaw, who gave the nod. Pip'kha flew up, over the canopy of noxious trees, leading the flock to a rock cliff high in the foothills.

Here they would roost for the night, murmuring amongst themselves with a nervous guilt for their survival when others had fallen. Pip'kha noticed a subdued Mitikaw flit from one rock face to another, not sure where to roost, moving finally away from the companies of Brak and Kadwyr. Night spread her unease over all.

[ January 17, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Belin]

“You saw him?” cried Kadwyr.

“Quiet!” answered Brak. “It’s night. Yes. I saw Krikaw, just as I told you. He was alive then, but by now…”

Kadwyr made an uneasy croaking sound deep in his throat. “I left him there. I didn’t even think of him. Do you suppose if I’d warned him again--"

Brak did not answer, so Kadwyr subsided. Stubborn old Krikaw probably wouldn’t have listened to him a second time in any case. Stupid bird. He probably would have attacked Kadwyr, and then where would they be? Never liked him anyway. Kadwyr twisted around, ostensibly to preen his tailfeathers, and gazed back toward the battlefield. What kind of a captain could he be, if his warnings did no good, if he abandoned the others whenever—well. That was the past.

He turned his attention to his wings, and to Mitakaw. Now there was a bird with something to regret, and something to fear. Why was he isolating himself like that, when he ought to be speaking to the companies or at least to Akaaw, finding his new place? Such strange news, and maybe Kadwyr didn’t believe it after all. There were some things he'd considered permanent. “Is it true about Fingot, Brak?” he asked, just as the other bird was finally settling into sleep.

[Anglachel]

Kadwyr’s question momentarily roused Brak who had been drifting rapidly towards sleep.

“Aye. I too have heard that Fingot is lost," said Brak tiredly. "Too many good crows lost in helping an ungrateful ally. Too many."

With that, he turned his head back to nestle between his wings and left Kadwyr to ponder the past days’ events.

[ January 18, 2003: Message edited by: Anglachel ]

[The Barrow-Wight]

Akaaw again stirred first among his monstrous murder, but this morning it was no wizardly call that roused him. In fact, he hadn’t slept at all. Through the cold, windy night on the high granite cliff, the crow leader had huddled with closed eyes, but a steady procession of faces had kept true sleep at bay. Each creban missing from the flock had marched slowly by him, every one eyeing him accusingly. Each dead bird had looked into his eyes and said: Ware the trees…

A sudden, icy gust ruffled his feathers, and he pushed away from the cliff to catch it. The wind lifted him quickly away from the rocky ledge and upward, high above his sleeping comrades. To the east, the sun was giving off its first faint glimmers, and he flew towards it as if to catch the first warmth of the day. Perhaps this day would be better than the last. Time would tell.

He looked below, searching the rocks until he noticed Pip’kha who, alone of the birds he could see, was awake and looking up as if waiting for him to call. He motioned for him to come to him, and soon he hovered at his side.

“Good morning,” said the younger crow. “How was your night?”

“Cold and long,” he grumbled blearily.

“Aye, for me, as well,” said Pip’kha, wisely changing the subject. “What will our destination be today?”

Akaaw nodded to the northwest. “Across the mountains and down into Dunland. Now that the horde has fed, we can fly far and fast. It is there, or further north, that the master said we are most likely to find what he seeks.”

The creban captain looked to his chief expectantly, but Akaaw was not forthcoming with more information.

The large crow spoke again. “Wake the flock and get us on our way.”

[ January 18, 2003: Message edited by: The Barrow-Wight ]

[Bêthberry]

His left wing tipping down, Pip'kha slipped away from Akaaw, towards the west which was still shadowed by the sunrise climbing slowly over the mountain peaks. Hovering, he surveyed the land across Methedras. There would be a strong updraft they would have to battle, but perhaps they could ride high and then swoop down where the land formed flat plains. Then he returned to the rock face where the flock had settled for the night.

"Shreesh, shreesh," he screeched as he flew between the various companies, stopping to peck at Iadoc, Brak, and Kadwyr--Iadoc in particular, who was such a sleepybird.

"Rise you torpid birds and work off your gorging from yesterday. We've a long flight ahead of us and land we haven't seen before. Grain fields with seeds galore for those of you tired of flesh. And water in the distance. Up with you and off your tails."

Up and down along the granite face Pip'kha scrambled, rousing even the stragglers with a personal word, not harsh, but good-natured, making most of the flock look forward to the day before them. Then, he spiralled high, drawing them after him in a mass so large it left its own shadow, ominously, against the rock face.

(OOC: Frankly, my 1000th post.)

[ January 21, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Rimbaud]

It was not long before the wounded old crow realised that he could make it little further. His head was swimming and to his vast shame he was not entirely sure of his bearings. He could discern no sign in the skies around him of the vast murder on the move. This in itself was disquieting, but combined with what he felt was his impending demise, it was crushing. His mind flickered forwards however, now discarding logic for a more emotive motivation.

He dipped his left wing and swung awkwardly about, trading altitude for speed, sparing his strength. His pinions were badly hurt and keeping level was exhausting. He allowed himself a more ragged flight, aware he was a sitting duck for any would be predator, in any case. A return to the battlefield and the last feast…it was a fitting end…

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Mitakaw, on the other hand, was far from giving up. His actions during the fight, in particular the ordering and movement of the murder away from certain suffocation by the awakening trees, if not fodder for the arrows of the strawheads, had not gone unnoticed by everyone. There was something of a loose armistice in the glance he received from Akaaw, although the Chief was wisely short-tongued at present, after being so close to the black skies of death. He was giving his lieutenants short-shrift at that very moment, as it happened. The murder was attaining shape in flight around them, a three-dimensional wedge forming, with Akaaw's fist of birds smoothly headed toward the point. Mitakaw inched closer, trained by the best to suck in all information, especially murder politik.

[ January 23, 2003: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[The Barrow-Wight]

The great Isengard crow horde of Akaaw flew westward like a great stormcloud, climbing ever higher as the mountains below rose to touch the endless sky. The dark trees of Fangorn were now nothing more than a dark smudge in the distance behind them, and every crow pushed forward without a backwards glance. Every crow but Akaaw and, when he thought no one would notice, Mitakaw. A revered creban had been left behind, and his presence was missed very much by everyone, especially those he had been closest to.

Pip’kha floated silently back to Akaaw and waited until the older crow acknowledged him with a throaty croak.

“Mitakaw is too proud to admit the pain of his father’s loss,” said the young bird, “and too proud to fall behind to look for him.”

“Too, true,” hissed Akaaw. “The sparrow is a victim of his own ambition and unwilling to risk his position.”

He gave Pip’kha a long, piercing glance, and asked, “Are you afraid of risk?”

“Craaakaa, no!” answered the bird, forcefully. “Chief, you know I value the murder over feather and beak.”

He waited, but Akaaw remained silent. There was an obvious command in the question, and Pip’kha decided it needed to be out in the open.

“Shall I rescue the honor of the horde, and perhaps the father of the foolish son?”

“Yes,” whispered Akaaw, nodding approval. “I was not able to confirm that Sparrowbane was dead, and I had no chance to return to him. A terrible situation. Please, take a few of your birds back and find him, alive or not. I will slow the murder’s progress and halt early this day.”

He motioned to the west. “ Do you see the gleaming lake far ahead of us?”

Many leagues away, nestled among the high western foothills of the Misty Mountains, lay a long finger of dark water.

“That is where we will be. “Find us there at nightfall.”

“We’ll be there,” said Pip’kha.

[ January 27, 2003: Message edited by: The Barrow-Wight ]

[Rimbaud]

Straggling, he flew leaden, lower and lower. Blood and earth were in his eyes and his wings were crooked. He could no longer bear to flap them; he settled for gliding, knowing in his heart that he had not the speed or the height to get near to the battle-field again and his last feast. Somewhere in his breast beat a hurt; a pain that no-one of his sons, not one of his proteges, not even the leader had come for him, or had sent birds for him. Perhaps...they had...

He blinked awake in pain and confusion, branches slapping him on his face and wings, sending pain shooting through his tired old body. Grasping hold of himself, he grasped and swung, making a startlingly graceful landing on a branch, jagged and oddly scarred as if by fire, that struck out from the canopy of the small copse beneath. He shook his head irritably and felt a sudden fierce surge of vicious joy at the blood upon his face. The coppery scent invigorated him. The sun struck him then, carving between the mountain peaks, slicing warmth upon his tattered feathers. He shook again, almost instinctively, clearing his head. Clarity was descending upon him, but it was an unusual one for him, not the muffled clarity of sight in battle, nor the exultance of young flight, nor even the delight of the first flight of the morning, but a calmness, a serenity that pervaded his very living spirit.

He breathed in deeply, opening his cracked and damaged beak. The air was cool, crisp and delightful. He felt a massive thirst then, so strong it nearly toppled him from his awkward perch. This was shunted hastily back in his mind as he scanned the sky. Unmistakably, he saw three birds flying. Yet he could see their movement across the sky. They were not coming directly towards him. He felt a keening sadness within him, for he had just become greatly desirous of clinging to his fragile life.

He tried to focus on the black specks, but they were twisting, spinning past his eyes...all went black again.

Fingot Sparrowbane fell, noiselessly impacting on branch and leaf, coming to a stop, more softly than expected, on the damp leaves of the ground.

[ January 31, 2003: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Bêthberry]

Pip'kha quickly flew up to his cousin, coasting a bit as he held his position.

"Iodoc, you must take our company north with Akaaw and the murder. Remember to watch for Mitikaw's maneuvres. What he intends I don't know, but just be wary. Winka and Dakaw will help you. I am taking Rik'ki'kew and Kawdor with me. We are returning to the Forest."

Iadoc slowed his wing speed and looked incredulously at Pip'kha.

"You are doing what?"

"Fingot Sparrowbane is not among us and we have need of his knowledge, experience, wisdom. No one saw him die. And it is not the manner of crows to abandon our kind. I am to find him, dead or alive."

Iadoc eyed his cousin. "That forest is dangerous. It is wrong for us to go there. You won't be safe." Here, Iadoc nodded his head curtly, three times, as if in ritual to ward off danger for Pip'kha. "What's the point of searching for one who is lost?"

Pip'kha looked long and hard at his less thoughtful cousin. "Sometimes, Iodoc, you are a silly grub. You fear soaring? Or diving deeply? The forest is dark, deep, and indeed dangerous but lovely too. But my purpose is to find one who might need help."

So saying, Pip'kha banked left and circled to seek out Rik'ki'kew and Kawdor. The three crebain wheeled around and flew into the higher stream of air, where the windspeed brought them quickly back to the forest. They spread out to caw range of each other, hovering low over the forest floor and began a search pattern, weaving in and out of the tree trunks. They did not risk calling to the elder crow for fear of arousing the anger of the trees.

Pip'kha's nerves were on edge, a welter of clear-headed determination and unsettled anxiety and there was a tense tremour in his body as he flew over the pine needles, fallen leaves, dead and rotting matter of the floor. Finally, he risked a short, quick, tremulous caw, then another. To his left he caught a weak reply and peering down he spied the small dark body of Fingot Sparrowbane, nestled on the matted forest floor.

"Crahka, crahka," whispered the younger bird, as he landed at the side of the elder crow.

"Are you injured, hurt, in pain?" asked Pip'kha as he quickly began preening Sparrowbane's wings and body, his beak moving back and forth among the ruffled, crushed down and disheveled feathers, returning them to some semblance of smooth normality and relaxing the stiff muscles of the elderly crow.

"Thirst, thirst, mainly," Fingot managed to reply, his cracked beak hampering his words.

Pip'kha nodded and scratched through the dirt, hunting for worms. Finding one, he crushed it in his beak, masticating it into a fine pulp, which he then slipped into Fingot's beak in small amounts. Pip'kha then flew to the shrubs, searching for the juiciest of black serviceberries. He collected as many as he could in his claws and beak and returned to Fingot, repeating the actions again and again of crushing the berries lightly and then letting their juice drip into the old crow's mouth as Fingot held his beak up to catch the sweet liquor. Finally Fingot rested his head on his wing, savouring the strength and relief that was flowing into his body.

"Let me find the others," said Pip'kha, as he circled into the air at mid-hight among the trees. He cawed briefly, two short spurts which Rik'ki'kew and Kawdor quickly answered, coming to him. The three young crows then returned to Sparrowbane, nestling on the bedded needles beside him and waiting for him to gain strength for the flight back to the murder.

[The Barrow-Wight]

The still water of the dark mountain lake lay nestled tightly in the grasp of a narrow mountain valley. Like a league-long spearhead, it neatly divided the landscape as if by the stab of a mighty giant. So deep had that ancient spearman plunged his weapon, that the land rose up in walls so steep and thickly forested walls that no road or path could ever have scaled them. With no sign of past or present habitation by man, elf, or orc, it appeared the perfect refuge for the murder.

Still, Akaaw sent scouts forward to investigate the trees. Often the most obvious sanctuary proved less hospitable than first impressions would suggest, and the memory of the eaves of Fangorn had left him more nervous than he would ever admit. Though the treacherous forest lay on the other side of the massive heights of the Misty Mountains, he would not feel comfortable until this valley had been thoroughly investigated. Soon the scouts returned to report that all was well, and they had even found great stands of blackberry bushes near the eastern end of the lake. After a curt nod of approval from Akaaw, the weary crebain flock dove down to fill their hungry bellies.

The blackberries were soon gone, and the crows of Isengard slowly settled into the trees and restlestly waited for the sun to set. They were all grateful for the rest, but Akkaw had called for the halt early in the afternoon, and the sun was still two crows from setting. A few were eager to continue their journey until dark, but most were satisfied with the comfort of the trees. A cool breeze was blowing across the water and up through the trees, relaxing fingers massaging tired muscles.

Akaaw flew to the easternmost brink of the valley and perched himself on the tallest tree, looking ever eastward for sign of Pip’kha.

[ February 01, 2003: Message edited by: The Barrow-Wight ]

[Belin]

The day had been cold, nearly as cold as the night. All the down on Kadwyr's body did not suffice to protect him from the wind, which was as insistent as Pip'kha had been that morning, and not nearly as friendly. Korag had flown next to him, muttering irritably.

"Winter in the mountains," he said. "Worse luck ours. Do you suppose tonight will be colder still? If you ask me--"
Kadwyr hadn't, and hadn't meant to. He was quite cold enough on his own account. "Have you been in the mountains before?" he interrupted.

"Me, in the mountains? Certainly, of course. Dozens of times. Enough, anyway, to tell you that storms on mountains are--what are you laughing at, Eschkor?"

"Dozens indeed, you're younger than I am!" answered Eschkor, but several more naive crebain were already clamoring for details, and Kadwyr was glad to hear Korag's grumbled complaints subside into his usual outrageous gossip.

Their attention was so easily drawn off, he reflected. Just as in the battle, it was a question of minding small affairs or greater ones. For instance, Pip'kha's departure had gone unnoticed as far as they were concerned. But Kadwyr had noticed it. He noted the direction of the bird's flight, and stored the bit of information away, imagining the rumors that would arise once the others noticed Pip'kha's absence. He would keep it to himself, he decided; the gossip would be well worth hearing.

The ground beneath them was wild and uninviting. Kadwyr watched it carefully for signs of movement, but of course no ground-crawling creature would travel in such a place by choice. He wondered what it would be like for someone without wings moving slowly from tree to tree, perhaps glad of their shelter but still exposed to the constant injury of the hard, rocky ground that led up to the mountains, driven no doubt by some form of desperate need. Why woiuld anyone want to travel over such a land?

Indeed, why did they want to travel over such a land? There was nobody to spy on here, and Akaaw had been less than forthcoming, as was his way. But surely they were searching for something, and surely they needed to know what it was. As Akaaw brought them down toward the lake, Kadwyr was already considering the best way to pry information out of his chief.

[Rimbaud]

Leaving the forest floor proved a difficult task for the aged Fingot Sparrowbane, despite the encouragement from Pip'kha, who seemed increasingly exasperated. Although the part of the forest they were under was dense, and allowed only a filtered green lighting, the young crow could sense night fast approaching. He did not want to be here on the forest floor when darkness fell, he was terrified enough already.

Despite this he was full of admiration and pride for the venerated advisor. The injured, exhausted crow was bruised and torn and seemed hardly likely to make the trip back in one go, but within him Pip'kha sensed a rekindling of an indefatigable spirit. The beak was broken but the eyes flashed with fire and sight.

He wondered if they would ever return to the murder. Nightfall approached. The forest light drifted away like unravelling whispers of dream, the darkling menace surounding them.

* * * * * * * * *

The moon vied with the last red rays of the descending sun-orb by the time they cleared the canopy of leaves. They flew low and awkwardly; Pip'kha sent Rik'ki'kew and Kawdor to scan in front of them in the failing light. He himself strayed no further than a wing's length from Fingot, who said nothing, but gasped audibly with each beat.

Fingot himself was barely thinking of the flight, pushing the pain away. He struggled to rememeber the things he had to speak of to Akaaw. In the Chief's eagerness to push the murder forwards he had neglected in part of his mission. He had ideas...by the last of all ravens, this hurts...

They flew on slowly, the two younger birds circling them impatiently, Pip'kha urging and cajoling, Fingot careful and deliberate.

In the end, to Pip'kha's surprise, they made it in one trip and the problem was not Fingot's condition when they neared their destination, but in discerning it at all. Finally, after some abortive flights across the area of the forest, Pip'kha caught a brief glimpse of moonlight playing on still water. He dipped his wings and called to the others. It was nearly midnight.

[ February 03, 2003: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[The Barrow-Wight]

Once again, Akaaw woke before the rest of the murder, stirred by some internal mechanism that refused to let him get the rest he deserved. The early morning sky was still as black as the feathers of his tail, and a blanket of dark clouds hid the stars. The temperature had dropped below freezing, and a thin, icy frost clung to the trees and coated the flock of still-sleeping crows. Old Fingot, huddled miserably beside him, shivered violently and moaned at the nightmares that haunted him.

Akaaw left the wounded crow to sleep a while longer, and flew to where Pip’kha roosted. He nudged the bird gently to wake him and then waited a moment until he was fully aware. Pip’kha rose slowy and shook the ice from his wings, then whispered a ‘good morning’ to his leader.

“You have honored yourself and this murder, Pip’kha,” said Akaaw quietly. “Sparrowbane is a great crow, and his loss would have been a terrible loss to us all. One such as he should never have been left behind, and I regret having done so. I was sure he must be dead, until I had more time to ponder it. I thank you for the risk you took to secure his safe return. It is time that you know exactly what we crebain are doing in Dunland so far away from our roosts in the confines of Isengard.”

The younger bird nodded but remained silent.

“The master has given us a great duty that we are privileged to be a part of. It is our task to find something for the White Wizard. Someone, actually.” He motioned with his wing to the rest of the horde. “Pass the word to my captains that we will be scouring the land, searching for any group of Men, Elves, or Dwarves. The lands we will be flying over are almost completely empty of settlements, and the further north we fly, the less often we will encounter any two-legs. But we are not looking for villagers or those stray hunters that linger in the woods. We are looking specifically for a band of adventurers, particularly one with children.”

Pip’kha looked at Akaaw in amazement, “Hatchlings? What kind of beings would bring their young into such a wasteland as we are flying to?”

Akaaw grunted and answered, “Barbarians, no doubt. The kind intent on the ruin of the White Hand. Go now and wake the captains. We must be on our way by sunrise.”

[Anglachel]

The early morning sun had just begun to rise but could not yet penetrate the heavy clouds blanketing the pre-dawn sky. Consequently, it was cold and dark still when Pip’kha woke Brak from his deep slumber.

“The captains must gather for a brief meeting,” called Pip’kha while already winging away to undoubtedly disturb others’ sleep.

Brak merely grunted in reply, not being fully awake, but did manage to comprehend that his presence had been requested. After a few moments of attempted wakefulness and a ruffling of feathers, he took off from his nighttime perch and headed in the direction Pip’kha had taken.

It did not take long to locate Pip’kha and the other captains. At lakeside grew a sparsely leaved tree that made a good meeting area for the birds. Most of the captains had already settled onto various branches, so Brak quickly alighted upon one of the upper limbs not yet taken by others of the crebain.

The captains had only to wait a brief period for all to arrive and Pip’kha wasted no time to explain the recent, more clearly defined mission of the murder. The captains generally nodded in comprehension and approval and the meeting appeared to headed towards a quick close. However, it was Brak who decided that it was not yet time for this gathering to disperse.

He was not sure whether it was the loss the Krikaw and the others or just the unpleasant, unexpected awakening that morning, but a fire was burning inside of Brak that would not easily be smothered.

“Caw! Wait just a minute!” cried Brak. The other surprised captains cut their chatter immediately and settled back down on the branches. “Is that all we are about?” continued Brak fervently, “finding a few of the two-legged? We are heading into treacherous mountains that will surely claim at least a few lives from the murder, and we have already lost too many crows as it is, and for what? We owe nothing to the wizard and we care nothing for these other land based creatures. Why should we risk our feathers for those who have no effect on us? Am I the only one who finds this to be utterly ridiculous?”

As Brak finished he was greeted with only stares and silence. He could hear himself breathing heavily from his animated diatribe but he refused to appear flustered, so he slowed his breathing and stared back defiantly, waiting for a response.

[Rimbaud]

The Murder’s Balance

Fingot Sparrowbane had slept fitfully. His wings hurt, the rain plastered his feathers to him and he should have been thoroughly miserable. This was not the case. The oldest living crow missed little and had pushed his physical tortures to that place at the rear of his mind, as he concentrated on reading the balance of the murder. He felt Mitakaw’s eye upon him but ignored it for the time being. The younger crow was stationed high above him, in an adjacent tree. The younglings always took the high branches. Instead, Fingot, by the merest motion of his head, summoned the hulking Hardclaw, another of his sons, and his staunchest ally. Hardclaw was massive, and somewhat ponderous in flight. His mind was not agile, but he knew loyalty and he knew the will of Fingot was rarely surprised. His fealty, as with his father’s was to the murder, not to any faction. Fingot used him shamelessly for his dirty work.

Yet by the time that Hardclaw had shuffled beside him, head bowed to catch his orders, Fingot had moved ahead mentally again. The original plan had been simply to take Brak down to the ground, and for Hardclaw to make then obeisance to Akaaw. Such plans, however, were only effective when the Chief held a majority tone. The number of crows hanging on Brak’s polemic was disconcerting.

Sparrowbane could feel Akaaw watching him, judging what to do, waiting for his advisor’s sign. He made up his mind. He spoke briefly and quietly to Hardclaw, who departed his side silently.

Barely clacking his beak, imperceptibly moving, he had their attention. The relay crows instantly took their positions, the message moving back through the throng as he spoke, softly, his voice worn away, and hushed by the rain upon the broad leaves. The murder re-organized itself, in the subtle but familiar ways. With a surge of pride, Fingot saw that Mitakaw had learned and understood. His crows stood close to Akaaw, almost directly behind him, an unflinching sign of support. Some of these younglings snapped at those in Brak’s coterie – there had been some fluidity between these two groups, but no longer. Lines were being drawn. The murder was on a wing-tip. Suspense mounted.

In his mind, Fingot saw Mitakaw, older and wiser, leading a great murder south…south to the lands of sun and plenty; away from the affairs of two-legged fire-holders. Yet that was so far away…

“Crows of Akaaw, Crows of Isengard,” he began. The relay crows chattered. Those on Brak’s group shifted uncomfortably, and those that had listened ardently before, shifted slightly away from the large dissenter. Most of the crows gathered could not remember the last time Fingot had addressed the murder. “I have returned from a forest floor of seeping death!” There were some caws at this and Mitakaw’s coterie clacked their beaks. “I return to find good crows questioning the Leader of the Murder! Questioning he who has strengthened the crebain of Isengard to a fearsome body. He who speaks directly with the fire-wielder of the Dead Black Tree.”

Akaaw said nothing, but watched all, his eyes beady and cunning. Fingot’s voice was failing.

“Some question Akaaw’s wisdom in bringing us so far into this land. Dare you counter his judgment?”

With a sickening thud, Hardclaw sliced from a great height directly into the chest of Brak, sending him tumbling down, out of sight amongst the lower branches. Hardclaw recovered himself and steadily climbed to sit beside Fingot, who continued unruffled.

“Such questioning is not permitted. You wish for man-flesh? Horse-meat?” The crows cheered up visibly. This was more like it. “Akaaw brings you these things!” There was much nodding and wise agreement. The reign of Akaaw at Isengard had brought a fairly steady stream of death in the surrounding forests.

Fingot stopped, and flicked a wing-tip at Pip’kha, who in turn nodded to Akaaw, who gathered himself.

The Chief began, his voice sounding clear, strong and loud compared to Fingot’s rasping caw. The relay crows were not needed. “We fly north. You fly where I say. We feast on our enemies! We are the black glove of the White Hand! To the skies, crebain!”

Now Fingot acknowledged his son Mitakaw’s gaze and gestured swiftly. Mitakaw rose up, sending his birds spiralling up into the sky, the rest of the murder straining to catch up. Akaaw gestured to his own lieutenants who landed flapping and cawing in the midst of Brak’s diminishing revenue, scattering them, with much snapping and a little bloodshed.

Hardclaw shook his head to Fingot. Brak was not dead.

Yet it was the time to fly. Pip’kha and Hardclaw aided Fingot into the skies, and they flapped slowly, watching as Akaaw rose up steadily, carving to the front of the murder, barely acknowledging Mitakaw and his new-found fealty, as was correct.

Orders started spinning back from Fingot and the Chief. Groups of crows were created and cast off from the murder, swinging low over the forest, scanning, searching.

[ March 06, 2003: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[The Barrow-Wight]

The uncounted crows of Saruman’s North Isengard murder (for who could ever tally such a whirling mass of fluttering feathers) flew for days and days. So many days, in fact, that the land beneath it began to seem as one endless blur to the individual birds who bothered to look down anymore. Most crows were lost in the painful pushing and pulling of wings in an infinite cycle of weariness, and the effort of looking downward only added to their misery. Occasionally, as the leagues of green and brown slid away beneath them, a crebain would fall earthward, unable to go on.

“There goes another,” croaked Fingot. “That’s more than a dozen today.”

Akaaw nodded agreement. “I know. I, too, am counting our losses and am amazed at the lack of commitment in the youth of today.”

“Aye,” coughed the ancient crow, “Grown accustomed to the comforts of the Ring or too young to have ever left it until now. They complain endlessly of the effort they must put forward and act as if the words duty and honor have never been uttered in their presence.”

“Mitikaw has remembered your lessons, Sparrowbane. Duty and honor have been apparent in all of his actions since Fangorn.”

Fingot bristled with pride at his Chief’s words of praise for his son, the first positive thing Akaaw had said since this journey had begun. Finally, his impetuous son was listening to the common sense of his father and no longer hearing the hollow support of the ignorant youngsters that urged him on to premature action.

“Yes, Chief,” he answered. “Thank you for mentioning his improved performance. He may yet prove to be worthy of succeeding me.”

“Perhaps. He is no quitter, and I thank you for that. Those around him are still with us, and that shows leadership qualities. I will keep a closer eye on him as we continue our trek.”

He motioned ahead to a dark line on the northern horizon.

“That is the river I seek. Somewhere ahead it is joined by another stream, and at that intersection we will find the ruins of an ancient city. I do not know what it was once called, but I suspect we may find what our Master seeks among its broken towers and walls.”

“I also do not know its name,” muttered Fingot, “but I do know that it was once a great city of Elves, destroyed by the Eye more than an Age ago. It is undoubtedly haunted, and I don’t think we should go near it.”

“Feather and bone, Sparrowbane! Are you afraid of the ghosts of dead Elves?”

“Indeed,” grinned the old bird, “for ghosts do not feed the hungry bellies of tired crebain. But you mistake my meaning. It is not the spirits of the fallen that I fear. It is the unknown terrors that often house themselves in such ancient places. Horrors as deadly as the terrible trees can be found beyond the eaves of Fangorn. If we go to the Elvish city, be on your guard!”

“I will, Fingot. I will.”

[Bêthberry]

Many recent events had made Pip'kha uncharacteristically quiet, even sombre, and he was often lost in his own reflections as his wing beats carried him over a sterile, unnatural terrain.

Brak's sudden loss of heart had bothered him; he would not have expected it of the younger bird and he felt keenly the distruption of the murder's solidarity, as if a friend had taken a path that would eventually sunder the friendship. Iodoc at first would not make eye contact with him, as if his cousin, too, were uncomfortable with events. It was with not a little relief that he had observed Sparrowbane's actions to restore balance and unity to the flock.

Pip'kha found himself spending more and more time doing his reconnaisance flights with the companies of Rik'ki'kew and Kawdor. He didn't understand why, simply that they seemed to share an extra sense. Strange how an experience could determine matters that were far distant from it. Something about the forest and about their return for Fingot Sparrowbane had stayed with the three birds. Every time they were able to stop--a rare occurrence in this desperate-seeming flight--and sip on crushed elderberries, they seemed to relive that sense of a tiny miracle of relief amid the forboding. Pip'kha even took to holding a sprig of the berries in his claws as they flew, a subtle reassurance of something he could not quite understand.

The ground below was variable, some grassland that harboured little of interest, sparse woodland sometimes, other areas rocky, with large outcrops of black-streaked rock and even stranger sights, rotted relics of old mines, the mouths caved in but the scars remaining on the earth. The land was desolate, worked over, as if emptied of all that had been useful and now abandoned. A stillness haunted it.

Then Pip'kha had overheard Akkaw and Fingot speaking of this ruined town they were heading to. An ancient elven town. What were the elves that crebain should fear the ruins of their city? Pip-kha had never seen an elf, although he had caught whispered talk about them.

He left his company and flew back to Akaaw and Sparrowbane.

"What made the city great, Fingot Sparrowbane? You have the wisdom of the old days tucked away with your own years. Share it with us. And why was it worthy of the doom of the Eye?"

[Rimbaud]

Fingot flew on seemingly heedless for a time. Pip’kha was just rephrasing his question, when the veteran began a recital, in a low and breathy monotone, as if from some deep memory.

“We pass knowledge down through tales and so I pass this on to you. One of my daughters holds most of my knowledge also, now, for I am not foolhardy in my age.

“You talk of times so far past that crows should not remember. Yet despite the passage of nearly five thousand winters we do, for such is the power of the tale I tell. The city is called by the evil manipulating Elves, Ost-in-Edhil and once it was a revolting affront to the Powers that cradle us, young Pip’kha. White spires and pale stone buildings thrust from the Master’s Earth like a dagger through its heart.

“It was built upon the doings of two of the Enemy’s foulest minions, by their language Galadriel and Celeborn.” He clacked a reasonable approximation of the syllabic impetus of the words, more for effect than any didactic reason. He went on, ignoring the pain in his wings and in his heart.

“At this time, all those winters and moons ago, the Elves were companionable with the cave-dwelling pit diggers of the mountains. They between them constructed things out of the earth, and pretty baubles.” He and Pip’kha shook their head together at the folly of land grubbing creatures. “But after a time, our Master decided that the time to rid the land of such monstrosities was come, and through his cunning tongue and awesome power, he destroyed Ost-in-Edhil and sacked its futile towers. He turned the Elves against their own masters!” His eyes glittered with vicarious joy. “'Twas in this city that many things were made, and lost and found and broken and remade. It was in this city where our great Master leveled a blow of might upon our Enemies. The buildings of the land-shapers and earth-toilers were flattened.”

He paused for a time, and the murder strained forward around them.

“Ghosts remain. And other things. I hope we do not settle there for any time.”

No more could the younger crow get from him. He fluttered back some way in the mass, his mind racing.

[Belin]

The conversation between Fingot and Pip'kha was not, in reality, a private one, and it was not Kadwyr alone who listened unobtrusively from above, though what the others heard and what they thought of it, Kadwyr neither knew nor cared. He was occupied with thoughts of his own.

Speech or no, Sparrowbane is afraid.

Kadwyr shuddered. The old crow's wisdom and fearlessness had been among the founding principles he had been taught from nest and shell. The sky was wide, the dead were theirs, what was secret must be discovered, who had power must be obeyed, fire was fearsome, and Fingot was right. And if Fingot was afraid, then Brak had been right as well.

Kadwyr had kept silent during the tense moments before Brak's expulsion. He was no such upstart crow himself, and knew well what would happen to Brak's followers before he saw it. He was far more afraid of Akaaw than of any manner of ghost or elf, but Fingot's worry gave him pause.

But Fingot was old, he reflected, and Kadwyr himself was a crow of action and of sight. Worries were not for him. With a slight, calculating glance at Akaaw, he veered off, searching and spying. It was Kadwyr's sharp eyes that caught the city first. Its stones were hidden under trees and under brambles, and it was somewhat to the east of where they had been searching, still and silent, and even Eschkor at first did not see it.

"That pile of stone?" he said quietly, when Kadwyr had finally succeeded in showing him where it was. "We seek men there? Living ones? I can't imagine anything more than old treasures and bugs between the stones."

"Those, and thorns to pierce our feet, and hungry owls in the tower," answered Kadwyr, moodily. "And whatever it is that Fingot fears." He ignored the startled sound the Eschkor made deep in his throat, scanning the ground with care. "We will see, no?"

Eschkor nodded, and he and Kadwyr dove toward the city of secrets, leaving the others to circle it carefully, looking for whatever they might find. If there were old treasures, they were not for the whole of his company. Indeed, he would not have brought Eschkor toward the city if it were not for the deep misgivings in the back of his mind.

And he still hadn't seen anything move when the first rock hit him, hard, and he was thrown off his balance. With a cry of pain and anger, he veered around, searching for Eschkor, trying to regain his bearings, seeing nothing. A voice spoke nearby, words he did not know, and as he flew toward it in his panic and his anger, he suddenly felt himself caught and pulled to the ground.

Kadwyr, you fool, he thought in disgust, held prisoner by hands he could not see. He looked to the sky, hoping to see Eschkor, and was startled to see a ragged band of crows, flying low and slowly toward him. Brak.

To warn him would be to be a traitor, and Kadwyr was in no mood for generosity in any case. He gave up watching their approach (very near, by now), and concentrated on his ineffective struggles against whatever it was the held him, a thing that seemed to care little for claw or beak.

[ March 22, 2003: Message edited by: Belin ]

[Anglachel]

Brak and his small band of insurgent crebain had been warily tracking the murder since their expulsion. The forced secrecy had taken its toll on the group though, and Brak and the others were weary and in low spirits when they spotted the remains of the Elven city. It seemed a safe place to take shelter for a time while they rested and foraged for food.

It was here that Brak first caught a glimpse of Kadwyr. He appeared to be struggling in the shadows just inside the ruins. While Brak immediately recognized his friend, he could not see why the other crow was so fiercely struggling. As he flew closer, it seemed that Kadwyr was fighting against nothing more than shadows. Nevertheless, Brak approached cautiously.

As Brak swooped in from above, he saw with dismay the true reason for Kadwyr’s struggles. A black mist, very much like a shadow and somewhat in the shape of a man, had wrapped itself around much of the crow’s body. Brak cawed loudly and dove towards the mist, not really knowing what he could do against such an opponent. His first instinct was to use his claws and beak, as if the darkness was an enemy made of flesh. Though his attacks seemed to pass unhindered through the mist, Brak was relieved to see that the grip on Kadwyr was loosening. After only a moment, Kadwyr was able to maneuver himself out of his imprisonment and flew off, cawing loudly for Brak to follow. As Brak shot away from the ruins, he seemed to hear fell voices screaming after him. He quickly left the voices behind him and caught up to Kadwyr.

“What was that?” asked the shaken but still healthy Kadwyr.

“Not sure, but I recommend we avoid any further forays into the ruins,” replied Brak. “Are you okay?” he asked concerned.

“Fine now,” said Kadwyr, “though I am glad you showed up when you did. Looks like that old Sparrowbane was right after all about ghosts.”

“I would not dwell on it overly much,” said Brak. “On the other hand, I have a proposal for you that I would like you to consider seriously. I did not get a chance to confer with you before my expulsion from the murder. It all happened so quickly. Nevertheless, there are serious problems with this flock, as you must surely know. I ask you to join with me. We know the mission, we no longer need the others.”

“But why?” asked Kadwyr, “I like my place in the murder.”

“What about Krikaw?” fired Brak, “Do you remember him? He died needlessly! Must this continue? We can get ahead of the murder with a small group and cover ground more quickly. Traveling with such numbers is cumbersome and will lead to only more wasted lives when the bad weather hits. We can find these land creatures and report back to Saruman ourselves. It will be us then in his favor. No longer will we have to deal with Akaaw and his obtuse leadership!”

Kadwyr was not sure. He could see the fire in Brak’s eyes and it excited him. Nevertheless, this was no small decision. He did not know which way to turn.

[ June 02, 2003: Message edited by: Anglachel ]

[Belin]

Oh, yes, he remembered Krikaw. His fault, not Akaaw’s, but there was no reason to make an issue of that. Brak had a point; Akaaw had brought them there, and seemed to care little what became of those who followed. Indeed, Akaaw and Fingot together had spoken ill of those who had died of exhaustion, blaming the laziness and the weakness of these friends of his, staunch birds whose blind zeal had amazed Kadwyr for most of his short life. Oh yes, he remembered. But he also remembered Brak’s terrible fall through the trees, and the cries of crows convinced, his own voice among them. And if Krikaw had died needlessly, Kadwyr saw no need to follow suit. He had always considered himself a sensible crow, a crow that understood the workings of the murder and the ways of the world. Who had power must be obeyed, ran the maxim. And those who questioned maxims were fools…or leaders. He eyed Brak with uncertainty.

"And Hardclaw, and Mitakaw?" he asked experimentally. "Do you remember that?"

"Craaawk," sighed Brak disgustedly. "His skull’s as hard as his claws, and you know it. Without Fingot and Akaaw, he’d be nothing. If it’s Fingot you’re afraid of, say so. But if fear and not loyalty is holding the murder together, perhaps it should be dissolved. And where is their loyalty to you? Did they save you from danger? Did they—"

"Look," broke in Kadwyr tensely. Brak looked. It was small, hidden, and barely perceptible, but there was a faint hint of red at a distance on the ground below them.

"Is that...fire?"

Kadwyr chuckled, deep in his throat. "Fire," he said. He had a sudden desire to land so that he could preen. Fire. His mind was full of thoughts of himself, himself as the discoverer of their quarry, himself as the hero of the mission, himself as a favorite of the wizard, no longer overlooked in favor of the snobbish children of that decrepit crow, no longer sneered at for his youth, taking the glory that was rightfully his and that Akaaw would never accord to him.

"It is the wizard, of course, who wished us to find them," said Kadwyr, "and it is he who wants the news. The wizard is stronger than either of them. And who has power must be obeyed." He chuckled again.

Brak was watching him closely. "I can count on you then?"

Kadwyr made a sound like one he had heard the strawheads make, riding out. "Kadwyr Sharpeyes," he said, giving himself a title, as nobody had bothered to give him one before, "is in service of your cause." The other crow nodded slowly and with some satisfaction.

Kadwyr glanced back briefly over his shoulder. He did not know what had become of Eschkor. He must have returned to the murder, if he had in fact escaped. His friend, Kadwyr reflected sadly, was a very sensible crow, and a great follower of the maxims.

**********************

The sun was rising as they headed north. The eyes of Kadwyr and Brak were fixed upon the speck of fire they had discerned among the prickles and brambles beneath them. Around them, the crows of Brak’s company had spread out and were circling back and forth, searching carefully. Kadwyr peered back for a moment, trying to see whether the rest of the murder was visible in the still-dim sky, but found his view blocked, this time, by the many black-feathered bodies around him. He had already forgotten how much difference it made to be able to fly slightly above the others or to the front of them. He clacked his beak in irritation and wondered whether they would be visible from the ground. His own change of tactics really made for much better spying, he thought—had Akaaw really intended to fly over their quarry unobtrusively with the entire murder behind him? Foolishness.

All the same, he missed his own company, even Korag, who would doubtless claim to have been there the whole time, and he was keenly aware that all the real power here was Brak’s. He wondered how many of them would join him when they returned. All, he thought, if the plan worked the way that they hoped it would. But he would have liked to have Eschkor with him now.

They were nearing the place where they had seen the fire, and, small and low as it now was, a flash of red was still visible among the bushes. They circled lower, searching. “There!” croaked one of Brak’s crows, gesturing toward the ground near the area he was searching. Two men, one of them with the look of a leader and one no more than a child, cowered under a holly bush, as if they hoped not to be seen. Near them slept several others, Men, children, and an Elf and a Dwarf. The crows stared at them silently as they swept overhead, still moving to the north with the winds. The mission was complete. They would turn east again shortly.

Kadwyr strained for altitude, until he thought he could see the great murder, still moving westward. But between them and the others was another group of three or four, calling back and forth to each other in confusion and flying approximately northeast. One of them circled back occasionally, using a trick of balance that Kadwyr had only ever seen in one bird. Eschkor?

Cautiously, he dropped behind the others for a moment to see.

[ June 11, 2003: Message edited by: Belin ]

[Anglachel]

The unmistakable, intense feeling of excitement washed through Brak as he, Kadwyr, and the others circled away from their quarry. Their group, the few that they were, was able to accomplish what the entire murder could not. He could almost hear Saruman's praise on the wind as they sped away from the lumbering mass of crebain.

"Fools!" mumbled Brak to himself, "there are still some good crows left in the murder. It is shame that they are so inclined to follow such blind leadership!"

There was still a measure of guilt that Brak felt for abandoning many of the only crows he had ever known. Chief among his thoughts was Pip'kha, who he had always held in high regard. Brak looked wistfully behind him, thinking perhaps Pip'kha just might be following close behind, but there was only his small group of companions. At least Kadwyr was still with him, thought Brak with some amount of solace.

Brak let these thoughts fade to the back of his mind so he could contemplate the most direct route home. He was just beginning to turn his focus on the terrain in front of him when he caught a glimpse of some movement in his periphery. He quickly determined that a small group of crows was headed in their general direction. After a moment, he recognized one of the birds as Kadwyr's colleague, Eschkor. Turning back, Brak saw Kadwyr drop behind the others and knew that he too recognized his former companion.

Brak rapidly considered the rebel group's options. Eschkor may be friendly to their cause, but he also could be spying for the murder, or perhaps he could have just inadvertently stumbled upon them. Nevertheless, there was little time to waste determining the truth. Brak spurred the small group into action. He called loudly to the others and immediately cut hard to his left. The rest followed suit and soon they had closed in on Eschkor and his followers. Brak quickly led the team into a circular path that kept their target hemmed in.

After completing two full circuits around the small group, Brak broke away from the others and approached Eschkor. He noticed that Kadwyr had followed him to the center, but the others continued their orbital flight.

"We do not have time to be diplomatic Eschkor," said Brak, "so you must tell me now: are you going to join us, or must we put an end to you here?"

[The Barrow-Wight]

The murder spent most of the cold late autumn morning flying over the ancient ruins of the elvish city, but no bird could be persuaded to drop down among the broken walls and towers. Even with the sun shining brightly, shadows black as midnight still lurked in gaping windows and doorways and beneath fallen arches. A frosty wind rustled long-dead leaves in a constant whisper that left even the bravest crow wishing to leave the haunted place.

“There is no one here,” a young messenger reported to Akaaw, darting up to where the great bird hovered. “This place is absolutely deserted, so much so that we have not seen any living thing in all of our searches.”

“And what of our missing captain?” asked the creban chief. “Has Pip’kha discerned his wherabouts yet?”

“No sir,” answered the bird nervously.

Akaaw turned and asked his ancient advisor, “How can he have nothing to report on the loss of one of our brightest young leaders? Surely someone has seen him today.”

He turned back to the messenger with the intent of conveying a message his master, but he saw Pip’kha himself winging toward him from the north.

“Akaaw!” he cried. “We have word of the missing bird, and it is not good. A straggler caught up with the murder this morning and stated that he had seen several dozen birds arrowing south earlier today. Brak was at their lead.”

“I would expect him to be flying home now,” Akaaw smiled, “though he will find it is no longer his home once we return.”

Pip’kha cleared his throat and muttered, “Kadwyr was also among them.”

“What?” croaked Akaaw. “Kadwyr with Brak? Is this treachery? And at what purpose?”

Fingot croaked for attention. “There can be only one answer to the riddle of Kadwyr’s current course. He has found what you seek, Akaaw, and has defected to Brak’s group in order to bring the news to the White Hand before you do.”

Akaaw’s face at first grew grim, and for a while he said nothing. But after a while an anger began to build in his eyes, and the crebain around him backed away. Soon he grew livid with rage and began shouting orders to his messengers to gather all of his captains to him. Without waiting for a response, he beat his great wings and turned southwards, gaining speed so quickly that he reached the fringe of the murder that still circled over Ost-in-Edhel, pulling them as he passed like a great magnet into a dark arrow pointing southward.

[Thenamir]

The same seething anger that fueled Akaaw's singleminded purpose lent strength and speed to his wings even as it drove caution and reason from his mind. He thought only of overtaking the traitorous fragment of the murder ahead and meting out vengeance and judgement on them. Was he not strong? Was he not still leader of the murder? Did they not vastly outnumber the upstart hatchlings? Would they not swoop down upon them and destroy them all? As such thoughts ran through Akaaw's mind, his wings pumped faster, harder, until he was outdistancing the murder, heedless of landmarks or signs in the rocks and trees below, or the cries of the rest of the murder who could not keep up. Only Pip'kha and Hardclaw were close enough to speak, and Pip'kha was quickly tiring -- Hardclaw's mindless strength kept him at Akaaw's right wing.

"Akaaw! Slow down! Consider what you are doing!" gasped Pip'kha. "You cannot allow personal vengeance to outweigh the good of the murder! What you are doing is not right!" Akaaw's only response was a screaming croak as he savagely attempted to peck and bite at his would-be counselor.

Pip'kha fell back to the main murder, exhausted, seeing his efforts were vain. As he rejoined the others, he shook his beak, saying only, "we must remain loyal to the murder and its leader, but Akaaw is driven by rage. Beware his actions."

============================

Eglaedhel was a ranger abroad alone, on no particular mission but reconaissance and watchfulness, seeking anything unusual. Not many weeks before he had run into a search party from Imladris, seeking news of the Nine Riders of Sauron. His blood had run cold at the news that they had attempted to assault Rivendell itself, and he breathed a great sigh of relief when he had been told of their defeat.

He had had no news to offer them. He was left with an urgent request that news any activity of the servants of Sauron should be sent to Rivendell with all speed. Now he drew his bark-hued cloak around him and gave thought to hunting for his next meal. It was not an area good for deer, for the ground was rocky in places, and though there were clumps of trees here and there, there was not much grazing foliage.

Eglaedhel laid aside his bow and unpacked his sling, and the rounded fowler's net he carried. When rolled properly so as not to tangle, he could use the sling to hurl the weighted net high into the air, where it would unfurl and hopefully catch a tasty bird or two in its web before it plummeted to the ground again.

He was almost prepared to cast when a small murder of a few dozen crows passed almost overhead. A missed opportunity, but perhaps there would be more.

==============================

Akaaw, with Hardclaw at this side, now flew nearly a half-mile out in front of the fastest part of the main murder, showing no sign of slacking. His adrenaline had redoubled upon sighting Brak and the other traitors, and he paid no concern to the fact that he did not have the rest around him. He would catch that miserable Kadwyr by the throat in his talons and squeeze it until his last croak gave him the location of the men and their hatchling companions...

...WHACK!!...

One of the edge-weights of Eglaedhel's net caught Akaaw square in the beak, stunning him momentarily and tangling both him and Hardclaw in the intricately woven netting. "NO!!" he screamed as he tried in vain to beat his wings against the strong cords and prevent him from falling to the earth. Hardclaw also ripped with his beak at the netting, to no effect. They hit the ground with a sickening thud which stunned them. Eglaedhel rushed over to the fallen net and quickly slit their heads from their bodies with his knife, so that they would not suffer long. Before the main murder flew overhead Eglaedhel had resumed his covered and disguised position in the rocks, but he did not strike his fire until they had all passed. Hardclaw he found plenty meaty, but Akaaw was tough and stringy, though he never knew their names...

[Bêthberry]

In unbelief Pip'kha saw Akaaw and Harclaw felled by the awful net and with fear he screeched out a warning to the murder to fly faster, higher, harder, to avoid a similar fate. In the tumult and chaos many crows flew into each other, breaking wing and stride, and more were lost to the ground.

Rik'ki'kew and Kawdor found their way over to Pip'kha, who called to them to look for Fingot Sparrowbane. Circling higher, the three finally found him, engaged in a furious argument with none other than Mitikaw.

"You fool, old crow! Look where Akaaw has led us. And himself to his own doom."

"Patience yet, young one. Have you so soon forgotten your lesson?" snapped Sparrowbane, his beak cracking further and his heart nearly giving way.

"Patience my feather tails! If you had supported me we would not have fallen apart."

"Mitikaw, you allow your headstrong nature to rule now when our heads must be cool." With these words, Fingot Sparrowbane sought to knock some sense into his son with a swipe of his talon to one of his son's wings. The action enraged the young crow who spun around and slashed back at his father. The act caught the old crow in mid neck and a large gush of blood spurted out, drenching Mitikaw and draining Fingot of his life source. His limp body spiralled down while Mitikaw struggled to remain aloft, the blood matting his feathers and making flight impossible. He, too, plummeted to the ground.

With sickening despair, Pip'kha watched the two fall, and the murder fall apart, disoriented. In the distance he saw his cousin Iodoc careen off and called to him, but the distance was too great for his weak caw to travel. Iodoc disappeared into the horizon. The tumultuous noise of the discord echoed away as Pip'kha held himself stationary above the bleak landscape where the pit diggers and elves had violated the land, unable in their folly to imagine things not of their own creation.

The unknown terrors had won, it seemed.

Pip'kha wept a silent moan of despair and grief for his lost comrades and the forsaken murder. Then, calling to Rik'ki'kew and Kawdor, who had faced the hostile forest with him when they sought to save Sparrowbane, Pip'kha flew on, sadly winging with a hollow sorrow and a new somber maturity. Pip'kha sought out Orthanc, not to return to the White Hand, but to find Fingot Sparrowbane's daughter, to add this sad fate to her knowledge of the tales of the crows.

[Belin]

Kadwyr croaked loudly in surprise and distress. “Put an end to Eschkor? I tell you, traitor, if you kill my lieutenant…”

“Traitor yourself,” answered Brak coolly. “We can’t afford to have him reporting back, now, can we? You know that as well as I do.” He turned to Eschkor. “Well?”

Eschkor glanced quickly from one to the other, making small uncertain sounds deep in his throat. “You… what are you….”

But another, more urgent voice broke in from behind. One of Brak’s crows, unfamiliar to Kadwyr, had sighted the murder behind them, and was crying out in absolute panic. Eschkor wheeled around and was instantly at the very edges of their group, looking back and balancing on the wind as if he could guide himself off at any moment. “Kadwyr!…” he cried. “Look… no… our company… the murder… Kadwyr, do you see?”

Ignoring Brak’s furious glare, Kadwyr joined the small contingent of the group that had stopped moving forward altogether, that was darting back and forth in circles trying to get a good look at what had happened. Crows and feathers were scattered around the landscape, some flying away, some flying in utterly confused zigzags, some fighting with others for reasons not obvious to anyone in their small contingent of crows. Voices were all around him. “What happened?” “Are they all right?” “Where is Akaaw?” “Where is Fingot?”

“The murder is gone,” said Eschkor quietly. “Only this is left.”

“Precisely,” snapped Brak. “Come along, you sparrows, gaping won’t do any good. The murder is gone. We are what’s left. We were right—it couldn’t survive. Come on, now.” With an efficiency born of painstaking training, he gathered his crows into something almost similar to the neat little group they had been. “You two as well,” he added to Kadwyr and Eschkor almost as an afterthought, but as they silently took their places they were suddenly aware of the number of crows loyal to Brak, of by just how much they would be outnumbered if they were to change their minds. Brak continued the respect he’d shown to Kadwyr earlier, treating him as a fellow captain and a near equal, but all the pleasure in his new status had left Kadwyr. A deep distrust had replaced it. Still, he winged on toward Orthanc with the rest, perhaps unusually silent, but seemingly unchanged. Brak seemed satisfied, even if his bright yellow eyes did move toward Kadwyr with alarming frequency.

*******************************************

Saruman’s dark eyes rested on the crow before him. “Alas, so few of you have returned. Was the journey so arduous?”

Brak nodded and croaked solemnly. The wizard gazed out the window to where what was left of the former murder dozed. “And they have begun to abandon me here. Your worth shows all the more brightly, my beautiful servant. Tell the others of my words, and tell them they may rest, with my gratitude.” His voice was rich and slightly sad, as if the thought of all the strong young crows, both those lost in the mission and the descendants of Fingot who had fled soon after the return of Brak and Kadwyr, pained him deeply. Brak bobbed his head again and left the window, flying back toward the old tree. Kadwyr, perched silently in a nearby window, watched him go for a minute or two before taking off after him. He would need his advisor, the crow thought, with the echo of bitterness he was already learning to suppress. The fact that this advisor knew everything beforehand on his own accound was, of course, beside the point.

They had completed their mission. They had been rewarded. But the murder was full of an unease Kadwyr had never noticed before.

[ July 30, 2003: Message edited by: Belin ]