To seek some level of kindness in an unkindness of ravens. 

There was no harm in asking. There would always be one more misguided soul who needed an alternative. A change of pace to allow the injured lamb to transcend into something greater. A place to settle amidst their sisters until the time would come for them to finally flourish their wings and depart from the nest.

There would always be one more. For you see, this is how Ravens were born.

A Hobbit Inquisition, Part the 4th: Choice Cuts

Being the observations of Applecider Bolingbroke, assisting Lancogard North-Took, Deputy-Shirriff, in his ongoing investigations.

(As recorded in a cipher based entirely ononomatopoeic bird-calls)

NOT TO BE DISSEMINATED OR COPIED, OR I’LL START A RUMOR THAT YER MOTHER WEARS *SHOES*!!! 

Eyes of midnight

Brow of dawn

Heart of ruby

Hand of bone

All facets born of need, all facets set by art.

Power, peace, helplessness, war...all faces catch the light, all faces bear the darkness.

Solitude, love, tragedy, loneliness....all moments know the past, all moments see the future.

Embraced by passion, Consumed by death.

We stand alone...together.

Like smoke she marks the passage, from fire into flame.

Like smoke she charts the damage, as madness waxes sane.

Like smoke she asks the questions, from darkness into light.

Like smoke she draws attention, as daybreak turns to night.

Cloaked in mystery, bathed in rage, tempered by terror, tested by pain.

I trust her yet she trusts not herself.

I know her yet she knows not herself.

We stand back and back....

and through her smoke, we are fire.

Torn, trapped, conflicted. 

When will she find war?

For every command, a question.

For every alarm, a pause.

For every advance, a failure.

For every effect, a cause.

Standing shoulder to shoulder, she forms the line again.

Wishing there was another, to lead the hopes of men.

Where shall she know peace?