The sky is dark as you walk in the streets, lit only by the occasional power lamp. The sound of your shoes splashing in a small puddle echoes off the walls of the houses around.

Other than that, all is silent. No chirping of the crickets, no trill of the frogs, no hoots of the owls.

Nothing.

Everything is quiet.

But to you, the quiet is like music, leaving you to form sounds of your own to fill the space.

That is, until you hear a swoop, and a call.

Stopping and looking to your right, you notice a black colored bird, staring at you from atop a wooden fence.

The raven called again, the sound ringing in your ears. Another call comes from behind, long and drawn.

You turn to see yet another bird, sitting atop a wooden fence, looking at you from across the darkened street. The bird tilted it's head back, and let out another long, throaty call.

Before long, you notice the other joining in. The ravens' song surprisingly beautiful, yet very sorrowful.

Soon, you begin to lose time to the song as more birds join. The ravens line the fences on either side, arriving one by one.

The sadness in the song was overpowering, and you felt it speaking to you, though no words were really spoken...

Hear us sing our song of sorrow,

As we fly far in the 'morrow.

Feel our story touch your heart,

As you listen to the dark.

Taste the sweet taste of time,

As we croak and call to the windchimes.

Smell the foul scent of fear,

As we warn you, "Don't go near."

See our feathers fall from our wings,

As all the black ravens join to sing...