The First of Seven Ravens

iii - ❝The gods are looking favorably tonight.❞

"Will the potion be brewed by dawn?"

Sechnall's urgent tone was hushed as he glanced about for his brothers. They were unaware of his plan, and he intended that it would stay that way until it was successful. The apothecary - a fair young woman - rubbed the back of her neck while tilting his head away from him.

Doubting herself, she shrugged and continued carrying a collection of salt from one shelf to another. "There is no way to tell." He followed at her shoulder nervously. "The recipe is ancient; there is no way to know it will work at all-"

Panicking, he jumped out into her path and held her by the arm. "But there is a chance?" In awaiting a response his heart skipped a beat.

Her young grey eyes were locked on the ground as she replied. "A chance... Yes."

"Then I shall return just before sunrise."

Sechnall wrapped himself in the furs that she had donated to him and left with a quaint bow. His mother had always taught him to be polite before all else. After all, she had been. The apothecary too had been most caring towards him and kind in the face of his situation. When he arrived without warning on her doorstep just after dusk, still pained from his transformation, she invited him into the warmth without a thought.

If only there was such a kindness in everyone, Sechnall thought to himself.

The journey from the village to his home in the forest was a short one. Since the last time he was a man, the village had growth from just two shacks to a thriving society. It saddened Sechnall to see the friendly glow of fires and bustling taverns full of laughing drunkards and knew that he could not be part of the scene. He could not be the man drinking with his friends, or dancing with his lover. Or watching over his sleeping child.

He let himself be distracted by his thoughts of loneliness as he walked; the undergrowth stabbed at his feet through the holes in his boots while the shadows from the branches above him cast strange shapes. The swaying darkness was familiar to him, almost friendly. These trees had become his home and he despised them. As a boy, all those fifteen autumns ago, he used to climb them.

Back then the only worries he had was his mother saw the blood stains on his cloths from play fighting with his brothers.

Sechnall arrived at his humble resting place to find his youngest three siblings sitting around a small bonfire. They didn't notice him wandering towards them. They were too focussed on making each others' grin grow wider.

"What about the baker's wife?" Cecyll chortled. With this suggestion, the other two doubled forward in laughter, their watering eyes glittering by the light of the flames.

Between his gasping, Septum retorted; "The old hag has more beak than the seven of us put together." They rocked back and forward like madmen, cackling, as the youngest moved his hand back and forth from his face to imitate the size of her nose. Sechnall too began to laugh, quite uncontrollably, causing the boys to turn to him. When most of the hilarity had calmed Sechnall walked to the back of Quinn, crossing his arms and leaning heavily on his head.

"Which of us are you matchmaking for this time?" The three of them went quiet, glancing at each other with smiles they tried to conceal. "Hmmm... No one then?" Sechnall deliberately rested harder. Quinn groaned to pushed him backwards to free himself. The elder chuckled and started towards the house. With a sarcastic tone he continued; "What a mystery it all is..."

Cecyll, Quinn and Septum leaned in towards the fire to giggle and whisper to each other. There was a short, loud burst of laughter before Quinn called out a suggestion loud enough for Sechnall to hear it. "Perhaps the girl from the apothecary."