The wind was bitter… the first flakes of snow mingled with the rain as we crossed the ridge. It would be a long, cold night, in spite of the flame that burned on the western horizon as the sun sank into the earth. We followed the lights, seeking shelter in the village, a little way beyond the Field of Sheaves.
Moonrise was still hours away, but even so, a pale ghost of music drifted on the wind. This was the place… our mysterious informant had been correct. All we had to do was wait. Crowds were already gathering… shadowy figures, face and form concealed behind scarves, hats and turned up collars… and a darker figure still that ran amongst them.
Moving fast, indistinct, no more than a blur of midnight feathers, he towered over the assembled company. Crow held the dancing ground as an age-old battle was about to begin…
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