I made my way to the Golden Keg, a favourite eatery and inn within the Dwarven sector of Stormwind.

I had many happy memories there. Hopefully, I would be awarded some food from Myrla, the barmaid and head waitress of the establishment. It would also pass some time as I waited for the spell to make me a man again.

I flew to the rear of the building, knowing full well that was where the barmaid often fed the birds. Myrla could come across as a bit blunt at times, but she was a kindly soul and very fond of all wildlife which visited the area.

As suspected, she was out back, tending to her little bird feeders which sat on the flat roof of the storeroom for the inn.

My avian kin was so used to her they flitted and hopped around nearby. Some sat on her shoulders, waiting with eager anticipation for the fare she would bring forth.

I decided to land on the inn's upper roof and observe Myrla with her aviary before I introduced myself so-to-speak.

She chatted away to the birds while she moved among them, addressing each one by name. Some she'd named after regulars of the inn, others after quite influential personages.

"Now then, Daryl, ah hope ye've bin behavin' yersel', eh?" She spoke to a blackbird, of which there were numerous in and around the bird feeders.

The bird chirruped in response as it eagerly awaited the culinary delights Myrla had brought out for them.

Others crowded around as she lifted a large bowl. She scattered generous handfuls of grain on and around the feeders dotted over the top of the flat-roofed annexe.

"Aye, proper stuff fur ye lot, furst," she said cheerily. About thirty birds descended and started picking at the offerings enthusiastically.

"A wee bit o' carrion surprise fur ye tae," she said, producing another bowl. Its contents looked a tad dubious – a reddish coloured mush from where I sat.

"Dinna ken whit kind o' meat it is - bit o' a mystery if ye ask me, but Colin swore blind it wis high quality."

She started ladling some onto tin plates atop the feeders. Her "guests" circled them; some a little suspicious of the gloop she served.

One bird, a magpie, landed somewhat unceremoniously next to one of the plates, knocking a pretty bluebird out of the way.

"Arthas!" Myrla said hotly. I cawed at her name choice for this one. My mirth grew as she spoke softly to the little bluebird. "Aww, Jaina! Ye pair wee thing! He's such a brute that Arthas!"

I omitted a guttural croak, and Myrla turned. She gasped. "Why, I ... " she stammered, mouth agape.

It seemed my presence surprised her. I took in my surroundings, and I soon became conscious of the fact that I was the only raven. My attention turned back to the she-dwarf. She was still staring up at me in amazement.

My eyes flitted to the bowl in her hand. From it, the meaty mush slipped out and formed a small glossy red puddle at her feet, smearing her boot. I cawed a warning.

She glanced down. "Ach, fur goodness sake!" she scolded, righting the bowl and placing it on the feeder.

She shook her gooey boot and drops of the carrion creation splattered few inches from where she stood. One or two birds hopped over and duly devoured the discarded meal.

Myrla looked back at me a smile creeping on her face.

"Well, lad," she guffawed. "I probably shouldnae, oot o' respect an' a'thing, but ... I have the purfect name for ye."

She stepped forward. I peered over the guttering as she approached. She cupped her hands around her mouth, and with a rather disharmonic constraint, she whispered, "Khadgar!"

Oh, if only she knew!