Chapter Twenty: A Crow
The sun slipped behind the distant hills, painting the sky in hues of amber and violet. Shadows stretched long over the village square as the day's labor came to its quiet end. The men, weary from the fields, trudged back with dirt-streaked faces and calloused hands. The women, their chores finished, ushered children inside before gathering shawls against the cooling air. Even the animals, fed and settled for the night, seemed to sense the stillness, their low murmurs fading into the rustle of the wind.
Tonight, the villagers gathered as they always did, under the great oak in the center of the square. Lanterns flickered, casting golden pools of light onto the worn stones beneath their feet. They had come to discuss the day's happenings, as was their custom, but tonight was different. Rainy, the wandering Teller, was among them.
Her presence carried the weight of something extraordinary. For weeks now, her arrival had been whispered about with both excitement and caution. Tellers like Rainy brought not just entertainment but the possibility of wisdom—or trouble, depending on the tale.
The villagers settled in a half-circle, their faces expectant, their voices hushed. Even the children, usually restless and wriggling at this hour, sat still as statues, their eyes wide with anticipation. Tonight, they all knew, the first word would belong to Rainy.
She stood before them, a slender figure framed by the firelight. Her dark hair, wild as the woods she wandered through, caught the glow and shimmered with the faintest hint of copper. Her shawl, woven in colors that seemed to shift with the light, wrapped loosely around her shoulders. In her hands, she held nothing but a small stone, its surface etched with symbols that no one dared to ask about.
Rainy surveyed the crowd, her gaze moving from face to face. The villagers watched her with bated breath, their expectations as thick as the evening mist settling around them.
When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, almost a whisper, but it carried easily through the gathering.
"Let me tell you about a man," she began, her words unfurling like smoke from a fire. "A man who sought what he did not understand and found what he never expected."
The villagers leaned in, captivated.
"This man lived in a place much like this one," Rainy continued. "A quiet village, nestled in the shadow of mountains older than memory. He was a simple man, tending his fields by day and resting by the hearth at night. But he was restless, for his heart yearned for something more, though he did not know what."
The fire crackled, its flames leaping as if to punctuate her words.
"One day, as he worked in his fields, a crow flew down and perched on the fence beside him. It cocked its head and spoke—not in the caws of its kind but in the language of men. 'Follow me,' the crow said, 'and I will show you what you seek.'
"The man was startled but curious, for how could one refuse a talking crow? So he set down his plow and followed the bird. It led him through the village, across the river, and into the forest, where the trees grew so tall they seemed to touch the sky."
Rainy’s voice grew lower, drawing the villagers in closer.
"For days, the man followed the crow, through thickets and over streams, past places he had only heard of in hushed tales. At last, they came to a clearing where a great stone stood, carved with symbols that glowed faintly in the moonlight."
Rainy paused, letting the image settle in their minds.
"'What is this place?' the man asked.
"'This,' said the crow, 'is the edge of all you know. Beyond this stone lies the answer to your longing, but it will cost you what you hold most dear.'
"The man hesitated, for he did not understand the crow’s warning. 'What will it cost me?' he asked.
"'That,' the crow replied, 'is for you to discover.'
"And so the man stepped past the stone."
Rainy let the silence linger, the firelight playing across her face as the villagers waited, their breath held tight.
"What did he find?" a child finally whispered, unable to bear the suspense.
Rainy smiled, her expression wistful.
"He found the sky stretched wider than he had ever dreamed, the stars closer than he had ever imagined. He found mountains that whispered secrets to the wind and rivers that sang songs older than time. But when he turned to share his wonder with the crow, he found that it had vanished. And when he turned back toward the village, he saw it had vanished too.
"The man had found what he sought—but at the cost of all he knew."
The villagers stirred, murmuring among themselves. Some frowned, uneasy with the tale’s ambiguous end. Others nodded thoughtfully, their faces lit with the flicker of understanding.
Rainy leaned on her walking staff, her voice softening.
"Every step we take, every choice we make, leads us to new horizons. But not all roads let us turn back. The man’s story is a reminder to tread carefully, for seeking something greater often means leaving something behind."
She straightened, her shawl catching the light like the wings of a bird.
"Now," she said, her voice playful again, "tell me, my friends—what would you do if a crow came calling?"
The villagers laughed, their tension breaking like a cloud giving way to sunlight. Rainy smiled, satisfied. She had given them what they needed—something to ponder, something to debate, and just enough mystery to secure her place among them for another night.
As she made her way back to her tent she could see that someone had tended her fire. Rainy also noticed she had a shadow. The woman followed quietly, keeping pace until they were alone.
Rainy stopped, turning to face the old woman. The firelight flickered between them, casting shifting shadows. The woman’s gaze was steady, her eyes sharp and piercing.
“The People,” the woman said, her voice carrying both challenge and invitation. “Are you one of us?”
Rainy hesitated for only a moment before the answer spilled out, bright and eager. “Yes.” The word escaped before she could question it.
The old woman’s eyes narrowed slightly. Instead of leaving, she lowered herself to the ground opposite Rainy. The fire crackled between them, filling the silence.
“You answered quickly,” the woman said, her tone unreadable. “Do you think they’ll believe you?”
Rainy’s chest tightened. “I... I hope so,” she replied cautiously. “Why wouldn’t they?”
The woman’s gaze remained unrelenting. “Because you think differently. Because you look deeper. That frightens them. The People value unity, but they also fear what they don’t understand. Someone like you disrupts their sense of balance.”
Rainy’s heart sank. She wrapped her arms around her knees, staring into the fire. “I don’t mean to disrupt anything,” she said softly. “I just want to belong.”
The old woman’s expression softened, but her voice stayed firm. “Wanting to belong isn’t always enough. They’ll test you. They’ll watch for signs that you’re not truly one of them. And if they decide you aren’t, they’ll push you out.”
Rainy’s mind churned with questions and doubts. If I had said no, would that have made it true? Do I even understand what it means to belong to The People? Are there members among us unaware of their place? Who decides? And by what measure?
Her voice trembled as she asked, “Why would they fear me? I’m not a threat to them.”
The old woman’s lips curled into a faint, rueful smile. “You question things they take for granted. You see shades of gray where they see black and white. That’s enough to unsettle anyone who’s comfortable in their certainty.”
Rainy dropped her gaze to the ground, the weight of the woman’s words pressing down on her. If belonging is reserved only for those who conform, what of the ones who can’t? The ones who think differently, who see the world through another lens?
The old woman shifted, leaning forward slightly. “The People want safety. Predictability. They fear change because it threatens what they’ve built. And you, with your questions, represent change.”
Rainy’s heart ached. “I don’t want to change them. I just want to understand... to find my place.”
The old woman nodded slowly. “And maybe you will. But it won’t be easy. They may never fully trust you. You’ll have to decide if you can live with that.”
The fire crackled, the silence between them heavy with unspoken truths. Rainy’s thoughts turned inward, wrestling with the weight of her identity. What does it mean to belong? Am I truly one of them? Can I trust in this belonging? Perhaps—but only if it cannot be taken away. For if it can, I will surely lose it. My strength is too feeble, my mind too weak. But perhaps that’s the point. Perhaps it is enough to simply want to belong.
A darker thought crept in. If belonging is reserved only for the fortunate, the strong, the righteous, then what of the weak? The broken? Are the unfortunate condemned to be cast out? If so, then every atrocity of history—every act of segregation, every purge—becomes a shadow of judgment, a mimicry of what we fear most.
Rainy shook her head vehemently. “No. That cannot be the truth,” she murmured aloud. Her heart yearned for something more than survival, more than nature’s cold, merciless instincts. What we’ve been given transcends survival. It is a chance to rise above, to find connection and meaning beyond the struggle.
The old woman studied her, the faintest glimmer of approval in her eyes. “You’re stronger than you think, Rainy,” she said quietly. “And that strength will either frighten them... or inspire them. Time will tell.”
Rainy looked up, meeting the old woman’s gaze. “How will I know if I truly belong?”
The woman’s expression softened. “Belonging isn’t something they give you, child. It’s something you claim for yourself.”
Rainy let the words settle, turning them over like stones in a stream. As the firelight dimmed, her gaze returned to the flames. She straightened, her heart both heavy and lightened by the truth she now carried.
“The People,” Rainy murmured.
She could still see the old woman’s steady eyes in her mind. With tears gathering in her own, she repeated her answer—this time with quiet, trembling conviction.
“Yes,” she said. “I belong.”
But in her heart she knew she never would.
Tonight, the villagers gathered as they always did, under the great oak in the center of the square. Lanterns flickered, casting golden pools of light onto the worn stones beneath their feet. They had come to discuss the day's happenings, as was their custom, but tonight was different. Rainy, the wandering Teller, was among them.
Her presence carried the weight of something extraordinary. For weeks now, her arrival had been whispered about with both excitement and caution. Tellers like Rainy brought not just entertainment but the possibility of wisdom—or trouble, depending on the tale.
The villagers settled in a half-circle, their faces expectant, their voices hushed. Even the children, usually restless and wriggling at this hour, sat still as statues, their eyes wide with anticipation. Tonight, they all knew, the first word would belong to Rainy.
She stood before them, a slender figure framed by the firelight. Her dark hair, wild as the woods she wandered through, caught the glow and shimmered with the faintest hint of copper. Her shawl, woven in colors that seemed to shift with the light, wrapped loosely around her shoulders. In her hands, she held nothing but a small stone, its surface etched with symbols that no one dared to ask about.
Rainy surveyed the crowd, her gaze moving from face to face. The villagers watched her with bated breath, their expectations as thick as the evening mist settling around them.
When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, almost a whisper, but it carried easily through the gathering.
"Let me tell you about a man," she began, her words unfurling like smoke from a fire. "A man who sought what he did not understand and found what he never expected."
The villagers leaned in, captivated.
"This man lived in a place much like this one," Rainy continued. "A quiet village, nestled in the shadow of mountains older than memory. He was a simple man, tending his fields by day and resting by the hearth at night. But he was restless, for his heart yearned for something more, though he did not know what."
The fire crackled, its flames leaping as if to punctuate her words.
"One day, as he worked in his fields, a crow flew down and perched on the fence beside him. It cocked its head and spoke—not in the caws of its kind but in the language of men. 'Follow me,' the crow said, 'and I will show you what you seek.'
"The man was startled but curious, for how could one refuse a talking crow? So he set down his plow and followed the bird. It led him through the village, across the river, and into the forest, where the trees grew so tall they seemed to touch the sky."
Rainy’s voice grew lower, drawing the villagers in closer.
"For days, the man followed the crow, through thickets and over streams, past places he had only heard of in hushed tales. At last, they came to a clearing where a great stone stood, carved with symbols that glowed faintly in the moonlight."
Rainy paused, letting the image settle in their minds.
"'What is this place?' the man asked.
"'This,' said the crow, 'is the edge of all you know. Beyond this stone lies the answer to your longing, but it will cost you what you hold most dear.'
"The man hesitated, for he did not understand the crow’s warning. 'What will it cost me?' he asked.
"'That,' the crow replied, 'is for you to discover.'
"And so the man stepped past the stone."
Rainy let the silence linger, the firelight playing across her face as the villagers waited, their breath held tight.
"What did he find?" a child finally whispered, unable to bear the suspense.
Rainy smiled, her expression wistful.
"He found the sky stretched wider than he had ever dreamed, the stars closer than he had ever imagined. He found mountains that whispered secrets to the wind and rivers that sang songs older than time. But when he turned to share his wonder with the crow, he found that it had vanished. And when he turned back toward the village, he saw it had vanished too.
"The man had found what he sought—but at the cost of all he knew."
The villagers stirred, murmuring among themselves. Some frowned, uneasy with the tale’s ambiguous end. Others nodded thoughtfully, their faces lit with the flicker of understanding.
Rainy leaned on her walking staff, her voice softening.
"Every step we take, every choice we make, leads us to new horizons. But not all roads let us turn back. The man’s story is a reminder to tread carefully, for seeking something greater often means leaving something behind."
She straightened, her shawl catching the light like the wings of a bird.
"Now," she said, her voice playful again, "tell me, my friends—what would you do if a crow came calling?"
The villagers laughed, their tension breaking like a cloud giving way to sunlight. Rainy smiled, satisfied. She had given them what they needed—something to ponder, something to debate, and just enough mystery to secure her place among them for another night.
As she made her way back to her tent she could see that someone had tended her fire. Rainy also noticed she had a shadow. The woman followed quietly, keeping pace until they were alone.
Rainy stopped, turning to face the old woman. The firelight flickered between them, casting shifting shadows. The woman’s gaze was steady, her eyes sharp and piercing.
“The People,” the woman said, her voice carrying both challenge and invitation. “Are you one of us?”
Rainy hesitated for only a moment before the answer spilled out, bright and eager. “Yes.” The word escaped before she could question it.
The old woman’s eyes narrowed slightly. Instead of leaving, she lowered herself to the ground opposite Rainy. The fire crackled between them, filling the silence.
“You answered quickly,” the woman said, her tone unreadable. “Do you think they’ll believe you?”
Rainy’s chest tightened. “I... I hope so,” she replied cautiously. “Why wouldn’t they?”
The woman’s gaze remained unrelenting. “Because you think differently. Because you look deeper. That frightens them. The People value unity, but they also fear what they don’t understand. Someone like you disrupts their sense of balance.”
Rainy’s heart sank. She wrapped her arms around her knees, staring into the fire. “I don’t mean to disrupt anything,” she said softly. “I just want to belong.”
The old woman’s expression softened, but her voice stayed firm. “Wanting to belong isn’t always enough. They’ll test you. They’ll watch for signs that you’re not truly one of them. And if they decide you aren’t, they’ll push you out.”
Rainy’s mind churned with questions and doubts. If I had said no, would that have made it true? Do I even understand what it means to belong to The People? Are there members among us unaware of their place? Who decides? And by what measure?
Her voice trembled as she asked, “Why would they fear me? I’m not a threat to them.”
The old woman’s lips curled into a faint, rueful smile. “You question things they take for granted. You see shades of gray where they see black and white. That’s enough to unsettle anyone who’s comfortable in their certainty.”
Rainy dropped her gaze to the ground, the weight of the woman’s words pressing down on her. If belonging is reserved only for those who conform, what of the ones who can’t? The ones who think differently, who see the world through another lens?
The old woman shifted, leaning forward slightly. “The People want safety. Predictability. They fear change because it threatens what they’ve built. And you, with your questions, represent change.”
Rainy’s heart ached. “I don’t want to change them. I just want to understand... to find my place.”
The old woman nodded slowly. “And maybe you will. But it won’t be easy. They may never fully trust you. You’ll have to decide if you can live with that.”
The fire crackled, the silence between them heavy with unspoken truths. Rainy’s thoughts turned inward, wrestling with the weight of her identity. What does it mean to belong? Am I truly one of them? Can I trust in this belonging? Perhaps—but only if it cannot be taken away. For if it can, I will surely lose it. My strength is too feeble, my mind too weak. But perhaps that’s the point. Perhaps it is enough to simply want to belong.
A darker thought crept in. If belonging is reserved only for the fortunate, the strong, the righteous, then what of the weak? The broken? Are the unfortunate condemned to be cast out? If so, then every atrocity of history—every act of segregation, every purge—becomes a shadow of judgment, a mimicry of what we fear most.
Rainy shook her head vehemently. “No. That cannot be the truth,” she murmured aloud. Her heart yearned for something more than survival, more than nature’s cold, merciless instincts. What we’ve been given transcends survival. It is a chance to rise above, to find connection and meaning beyond the struggle.
The old woman studied her, the faintest glimmer of approval in her eyes. “You’re stronger than you think, Rainy,” she said quietly. “And that strength will either frighten them... or inspire them. Time will tell.”
Rainy looked up, meeting the old woman’s gaze. “How will I know if I truly belong?”
The woman’s expression softened. “Belonging isn’t something they give you, child. It’s something you claim for yourself.”
Rainy let the words settle, turning them over like stones in a stream. As the firelight dimmed, her gaze returned to the flames. She straightened, her heart both heavy and lightened by the truth she now carried.
“The People,” Rainy murmured.
She could still see the old woman’s steady eyes in her mind. With tears gathering in her own, she repeated her answer—this time with quiet, trembling conviction.
“Yes,” she said. “I belong.”
But in her heart she knew she never would.