Interlude: The Raven God

Few noticed the passage of the Raven God. Collected baubles, coins, forgotten treasures dangled from yarn and chimed with each step as he flowed between pedestrians like leaves through the wind. Of the few, they perceived a homeless stranger, pushing a garbage cart, and none met his timeless gaze.  

Crows and lesser ravens heard his silent call. They gathered, sang, played and instructed as per the god’s song. It had always been thus, since before the first raven hatched. Dwelling thus beside the humans who slithered up into their realm, the Raven God taught his kind to live beside and above them, but never below. Castoffs became their feasts. Lost things became their hoard. Secrets became their wisdom.  

The Raven God had known many names; a talon’s catch had called him by their own noises, but to his kind he needed no name. The Raven God had called them to existence; they would always answer his call. They had come before. They would remain to pluck the eyes from the last human.   

He had watched the humans craft tools, build cities, generate fire, all the while devouring and poisoning and burning their way through the world. Every day brought them closer to the lands of his kind, but they saw and learned and prepared. They would outlast the humans, regardless.  

The Raven God told his kind to wait in their trees: their time would come. The Raven God would never forget. And few noticed the passage of the Raven God.