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.
T'was the cats whom noticed her first, yowling from the gutters along rooftops or balanced with ease upon the thin edge of the nearest fence. An non-descript figure sifting through the gloom of a wintery morning, blessed with the first sprinkles of fresh snow which crunched under black buckled boots. The hem of a long, dark overcoat aligned with delicate lace shifted with the gentleness of a whispering willow, barely gracing the earth below.
A denizen of dread or despair, the figure was feminine with the presence of a definite waist cinched by the stitching of her coat. She posed quite an absurdity in such an ordinary setting, for Beggar's Alley teemed with those less fortunate, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the figure's face beneath a hat, jaunty upon her head and pulled so low that distinguishable eyes could not yet be seen. Naught but the angle of a petite jaw and blood red lips, striking against the whiteness of the surrounding snow.
The figure paused at one house with broken windows and an overgrown jungle of weeds spidering uncontrollably along the dull stones, her hand on the rickety gate as it eased open with the forboding creak of what was about to unfold. The cats, unsettled, flighted from sight as she floated up the short path, wrapping pale knuckles, covered by the same lace, against the door.
A second passed this way until a very slight, meek woman dressed in patchworked skirts prised open the door, creating little more than a crack between it and the frame to peer uncertainly at the shrouded face.
"I received your letter," spoke the figure, the tone very much indecipherable, perhaps somewhere between obligatory politeness and an eagerness to step into the house and out of the curiously watchful eyes of the Alley.
"I-I didn't realise it would be so soon," stammered the woman, surprise intermingling with the features of a person who had aged much faster than they had intended.
"Time is of the essence, 'lest we stand here all morning and allow the ground to swallow us whole as we converse like gossiping fishwives. May I?" The figure prompted for entry and the woman, with vague apprehension, pulled the door wide enough to allow her inside.
The abode, for lack of a better description as the figure's eyes swept across the single room, had fallen into an extreme state of disarray. It appeared, as she understood it, as though every occupant shared the same bedroom, which in turn doubled as the kitchen. A wave of something close to pity purged the momentary silence. They lived in squalor, that much was obvious.
"Is she dressed for travel?" asked the denizen, deciding against the need for idle smalltalk.
"I-...she...I can-" The woman flustered, "Erm, wait just a moment."
"Of course. Make whatever farewells you wish to make."
The figure inclined her head and the woman, with haste, disappeared into the only other room separating from the first where several exchanging whispers could be heard and a choked sob followed.
Waiting with a respectful patience, the figure perused the room with interest, her tipped hat fixed securely to her head even as she craned her neck to observe the missing tiles in the roof above. Her jaw tightened some, she had witnessed this situation before.
The creaking of movement and gentle footsteps made her turn and now, accompanying the woman, stood a timid girl who was indeed dressed in a long traveling cloak and holding moth-eaten bags containing what little belongings she had.
"Neria," The figure greeted, honeyed tones to juxtapose such an ominous reception.
"Can I...can I have another minute?" She asked with a clear nervousness in her voice.
"A minute only?" The figure reasoned a fair question.
The girl nodded thoroughly, to which she gestured around and proceeded to step back outside to wait, catching the cold air in a sharp inhale.
Residents to the Alley had since scattered, returning to their homes or their routes to work and so forth. The figure stood by, leaning against the side of the house as she waited, observing the equilibrium of a life she had not revisited for years.
The moment, for several minutes, was quiet as her eyes swept across the collection of rundown houses aligning either side of the Alley, dusted in thin layers of snow and ice. It was only when a loud shriek surfaced from seemingly nowhere and made her attention linger on a couple departing from the nearest neighbouring house. Arm in arm and, for what it was worth, barely able to keep one another's hands off each other. The girl was petite and redheaded, dressed in a complimenting shade of olive green as she grinned and laughed jovially. Her accompaniment was taller, paler and darker haired.
Ashaia was staring at them. Unblinkingly. Green eyes softened.
Yet they had not noticed the bizarre sight of her person standing there and watching them intently. Something in her chest was stirring: a jolt of reminiscence. His touch had turned her to gold. And with it's absence, the gold did not glimmer as brightly any more, weighted beneath an impenetrable layer of ice.
The tight, wrenching sensation depleted as quickly as it had arrived, the couple rounded the corner and out of sight, the sounds of their laughter grower ever quieter.
"What the hell are you supposed to be?" came the grunt of an old, grizzled neighbour with a stooping posture, leaning on the rickety fence separating the two gardens. However, 'gardens' was putting it kindly. Patches of unkempt grass and tangled weeds was perhaps a more fitting description.
Ashaia was supremely calm despite the aggressiveness of the question, peeling her eyes away from where the couple had disappeared to look at him, her hat still very much low over her face.
"A slither of hope for a bad situation," She alluded mysteriously.
Nonplussed, the man conjured a noise of sheer bemusement, sounding something close to 'Eh?'
"That girl's mother..." Ashaia gestured idly back at the house, "...cannot afford to feed her any more. And to keep her from falling on hard times, I am taking her under my wing. There was, even before she knew it, always a place for her amongst my Ravens. T'was only a matter of time before she would be ready to pursue it. Consider it that I am saving this girl from a terrible fate."
At that precise second, the door swung open and Ashaia straightened up to leave, turning her attention away from the wizened fellow to Neria with her bags and her mother. Both women were tear-streaked but accepting of what needed to be done.
Expression softened, Ashaia peered between them. The girl's mother produced from a deep pocket on the front of her apron a furled document and handed it over.
"She will be just fine. Fed, watered, educated," Ashaia's tone had grown somewhat soothing, stowing away the document as she turned to address Neria, "Here," She said gently, lifting the girl's chin with her finger and lowering her shoulders, ultimately perfecting her posture, "Your sisters will be thrilled to have another. You will find refuge with me, that I can assure you of. Let us be off, my dear, for a new life waits for you."
