“Why are we here?” Ghost asked. Old Crow said nothing.

Ghost watched the ravens Old Crow was so intent on visiting. They didn’t appear to fly more than a short distance. They were corralled and gawked at by passers by. The grounds were pristine and well kept; overlooked by crumbling buildings and towers.

It was the first time Ghost had seen something resembling pity on Old Crow’s face.

“I know what it means to be bound to a place.” Old Crow finally spoke. “To be unable to escape, no will of your own. These ones are imprisoned for superstition, to preserve traditions. Helpless. My prison was much more sinister.”

As Old Crow flew away, Ghost knew all too well, as he was helpless not to follow.

Labels: Fresh Gravel For Your Craw, ghost, Inktober, Inktober Day 21, Old Crow, Pentel