It was nighttime now. The stars were out in a full array of twinkling brilliance. Not a cloud could be seen in the sky.

Old Crow coughed and shuddered. Bits of skin had begun peeling from his face.

Ghost had grown tired of looking at Old Crow. His weak, pale body disgusted him.

“What is your true face, Old Crow?” Ghost heard himself ask, in disbelief. What had he done?

Old Crow bristled. He straightened himself up high upon his favourite branch.

“Why Ghost, I thought you’d never ask.”

Old Crow’s body began to twitch and twist, as if his bones were fighting each other to get out.

Dark black tears began to stream down Old Crow’s face.

He grew then, larger and larger until Ghost paled in comparison.

A deafening hum overtook the forest. The droning sound of a swarm of wasps filled Ghost’s ears. It made it impossible to concentrate, but he dare not look away.

It wasn’t wasps at all.

It was Old Crow, laughing. A deafening cackle from deep within his chest. Whatever he was, whatever he had been had changed.

The burning in Ghost’s chest was gone, replaced by an unimaginable chill. He was weak and helpless.

As he looked upon Old Crow, his true face laid bare, Ghost thought he might just go mad.

And then the stars went out.

Labels: Fresh Gravel For Your Craw, ghost, Inktober, Inktober Day 31, Old Crow, Pentel

When Ghost woke that morning Old Crow was gone, his nest empty.

Ghost follow the ragged trail of feather and blood Old Crow had left down to the riverbank.

There was Old Crow, gnawing on a fish three times his size. The fish was fresh, pulled from the river moments before.

The burning in Ghost’s chest was gone once more.

Old Crow paused. He was grinning at Ghost wide now.

“Ask me about my true face” Old Crow teased.

Ghost had been taught better. Whatever Old Crow was, and Ghost had seen bits and pieces of it over the years, it was nothing to be trifled with. No matter what face Old Crow was wearing, and he’d worn plenty, his true face was that of horror. Of that Ghost was sure.

But what had that burning in his chest been if not strength and courage? Even if it had subsided for now, what could this weak, sickly thing do to him now?

Labels: Fresh Gravel For Your Craw, ghost, Inktober, Inktober Day 30, Old Crow, Pentel

Old Crow tried to stand; his legs betrayed him. He crashed down into his nest, now filled with his own withering feathers.

The burning in Ghost’s chest grew. He felt stronger than he ever had since first meeting Old Crow.

Perhaps he’d fly free, for the first time in as long as he could remember.

Or perhaps he’d stay by Old Crow’s side; watch the energy slowly drain from him as Ghost grew stronger.

Perhaps he’d crush Old Crow like a bug.

Had Old Crow smiled just then?

Labels: Fresh Gravel For Your Craw, ghost, Inktober, Inktober Day 29, Old Crow, Pentel

As Old Crow grew weaker, Ghost found his memories returning, though foggy and fleeting.

He’d been asked to accompany a caravan through the fresh trade routes.

Ghost had missed his young wife badly. He kept one of her hair ribbons with him on all his journeys.

He’d sat for a moment on an oddly shaped rock. It looked as if it had been carved to resemble a twisted spirit, but the elements had taken the edges from it long ago.

An old man approached Ghost. He spoke with him for a bit, though the conversation escaped Ghost.

At the end, the old man asked, “May I join you?”

“I need you to give me permission” the old man added.

Ghost saw no reason to refuse. The caravan was making its way back to the city, and the Emperor had made a point of welcoming all.

Everything went dark after that.

“Ask me about my true face…” Ghost heard Old Crow say as the memory faded.

Labels: Fresh Gravel For Your Craw, ghost, Inktober, Inktober Day 28, Old Crow, Pentel

Old Crow looked around him. He was surrounded by caricatures of himself; a parade of mockeries.

He was a meek spirit, bound to no more than a rock in the woods, waiting for a passerby to feed him.

He was a trickster poet, seducing the maidens that left bundles of sticks at his feet.

He was alone, cold and shivering, no matter which way he shifted or pulled his blankets over him.

He was emboldened by the fresh trade routes winding their way through his forest.

He saw a young soldier, sad and pitiful, clutching a dull red ribbon in his hand.

The soldier sat upon his rock, and Old Crow had known then what he must do.

That was the first change Old Crow had known.

Fevered and weak, he knew another was soon to follow.

Labels: Fresh Gravel For Your Craw, ghost, Inktober, Inktober Day 27, Old Crow, Pentel

Ghost had awoken in the pitch black of night.

Old Crow was asleep, or at least he appeared to be. His feathers were matted and missing in places. His breathing ragged and uneven.

Ghost had never felt better. Whatever sickness was overtaking Old Crow was steadily weakening the bond and he and Ghost had.

A single star shot across the night sky.

Ghost smiled at this.

Labels: Fresh Gravel For Your Craw, ghost, Inktober, Inktober Day 26, Old Crow, Pentel

Ghost awoke to a dull, wet crunching sound.

Old Crow had woken early and been hunting. His beak covered in gore.

“Why so nice of you to join us!” Old Crow preened.

Whatever the fever had done to knock Old Crow down, it seemed the fresh kill had restored.

Ghost felt that same lingering hopelessness snake its way back into his mind.

“I am bound here, forever chained to this creature” Ghost thought.

“Now Ghost, there’s no need for so much melancholy” Old Crow replied, though Ghost had not spoken a word.

Ghost shuddered.

Labels: Fresh Gravel For Your Craw, ghost, Inktober, Inktober Day 25, Old Crow, Pentel

Old Crow wobbled side to side. Whatever fever had hit him had broken in the morning, but recovery was not as quick to return.

“Where are we headed next?” Ghost asked.

“Somewhere we can smile I think.”

Old Crow was still speaking in nonsense and riddles.

“Eventually they’ll wipe us all out. I’ve watched it happen to so many before us. They take and take, then lament that there’s nothing left to suck dry.” Old Crow muttered. He looked sickly. Tired.

Ghost felt a tinge of heat across his chest.


Something had changed.

Labels: Fresh Gravel For Your Craw, ghost, Inktober, Inktober Day 24, Old Crow, Pentel

“I oversaw the birth of Kings. I remember the river when it was pure and monuments were built to me!”



Another fever had overtaken Old Crow. They were coming quicker now. 


“Gold and spices in abundance!”

Something was changing inside Old Crow.

“Death was just a step in the journey, not an end. What was built still stands!”


Or something else was trying to get out.

Labels: Fresh Gravel For Your Craw, ghost, Inktober, Inktober Day 23, Old Crow, Pentel

Ghost wasn’t quite sure where Old Crow had gotten to, just that he had to be close.

Always close.

Time had been slippery, memory more so, since Old Crow had tricked Ghost.

Ghost couldn’t recall how he’d tricked him. He just knew he had once been free, but now he was bound to Old Crow, unable to stray far away. Forever tethered.

Once Old Crow had gotten so mad at Ghost for trying to flee that he’d made it so no creature could see Ghost; that none of his loved ones would remember him.

Eventually the creatures came back around, but Ghost wondered if his loved ones remembered. Did he have loved ones?

Memory had been slippery.

Labels: Fresh Gravel For Your Craw, ghost, Inktober, Inktober Day 22, Old Crow, Pentel

“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

Old Crow appeared before Ghost as another bird.

Another face. Like a change of clothes, or a fresh coat of paint.

Ghost wondered how many times Old Crow had done this. Did he gain something new from each of his new guises? Or worse, did he lose something of himself?

Was there anything of him left?

From what Ghost has seen, if there were any of him left, it was pitch black.

Seething and twisted.

Dead, but still moving.

Labels: Fresh Gravel For Your Craw, ghost, Inktober, Inktober Day 20, Old Crow, Pentel

The humans sat in silence for a brief moment. “They appear to be honouring their dead.” thought Ghost.

Old crow picked at a bone he’d been gnawing at for several minutes, oblivious to the reverie.

Ghost hated Old Crow more and more as his time with him went on.

He wondered if Old Crow knew of honour. If he knew of sacrifice.

“I know of wars fought in the names of the rich, and the bodies left behind all for naught.” Old Crow quipped suddenly.

Ghost was shocked. Had he spoken out loud? Were his own thoughts not safe?

Old Crow continued to gnaw at his bones.

Labels: Fresh Gravel For Your Craw, ghost, Inktober, Inktober Day 19, Old Crow, Pentel

“What if you couldn’t fly?” Ghost asked Old Crow absentmindedly.

“Hatching a plan are we?” Old Crow purred, his eyes narrowing.

Ghost regretted the question. Ghost knew he was bound to Old Crow, until one or both of them perished, and maybe beyond that.

They sat in silence for a long time.

Ghost could hear the wolves again in the distance.

“I’d make sure they remembered me.” Old Crow finally answered.

A sharp yelp came from the woods.

“It’s easy to fit in the pack. Weaving in and out of the crowd. No one taking notice. It’s much harder to forget the misfits.”

Old Crow flew off toward the sounds of distress.

Labels: Fresh Gravel For Your Craw, ghost, Inktober, Inktober Day 18, Old Crow, Pentel

Tradition was a concept Ghost had a hard time teaching Old Crow. Mostly Old Crow had a hard time learning anything that didn’t interest him.

“So they just hang these trinkets on the tree? To what end?” Old Crow asked bewildered.

“It’s after my time, but I think it is comforting to them. The decoration is the tradition.” Ghost offered.

A look came over Old Crow that sent chills through Ghost.

“They don’t look like ornaments to me. They remind me of offerings.”

With that, Old Crow flew from the barren tree lit dimly by the window’s light. Ghost had no choice but to follow.

Labels: Fresh Gravel For Your Craw, ghost, Inktober, Inktober Day 17, Old Crow, Pentel

Old Crow slept for a long time.

Through spring, through summer and into autumn.

His dreams seemed fevered and unrelenting.

When he finally stirred awake, he turned toward Ghost and simply asked “Shall we carry on?”

Ghost would never get used to Old Crow’s ability to shed the past like an ill-fitting skin.

An orange maple leaf tumbled from the tree where they were perched.

Labels: Fresh Gravel For Your Craw, ghost, Inktober, Inktober Day 16, Old Crow, Pentel

“I am worshipped as a messenger. Death speaks through me!”

Old Crow was wild with fever now. It was rare, but Ghost had seen it before.

“Others named their people after me!”

Old Crow’s eyes flitted wildly. For a brief moment it appeared as if another set of eyes had been trying to peek out.

“They fear me!” Old Crow spit, his head raised to the sky.

Of this, Ghost had no doubts.

Labels: Fresh Gravel For Your Craw, ghost, Inktober, Inktober Day 15, Old Crow, Pentel

Time was a slippery thing for Ghost since he’d began travelling with Old Crow.

He’d look away from a clearing for what felt like but a moment, and that once empty field would be flush with trees and littered with undergrowth.

Of course it was made more alarming watching things returned to the earth; a fresh kill reduced to bones and rot in mere minutes.

In the end he supposed they were the same thing.

How quickly something could become overgrown or food for the worms.

Labels: Fresh Gravel For Your Craw, ghost, Inktober, Inktober Day 14, Old Crow, Pentel

“Long ago the humans would burn those who thought differently alive at the stake” Old Crow mused.

He’d watched it happened, perched as ever in his tree. Curious at the folly of it all.

“They’d do much worse to me if they saw my true face.”

Ghost felt a heat rise in his chest, flushing his face. He’d wanted to ask the question; he knew he’d regret the answer.

All he knew is he’d been tied to Old Crow since he’d met him.

His disdain for his predicament grew with each passing year, and he’d long ago lost track of how many years it had been.

Ghost said nothing.

Labels: Fresh Gravel For Your Craw, ghost, Inktober, Inktober Day 13, Old Crow, Pentel

Old Crow found it amusing the fables and whispered stories that the humans carried with them.

Bone simple facts ignored, shrugged off as fake, but the fairytale writings of generations long dead held up to a staggering standard.

Old Crow was happy to leave them tilting at their windmills and slaying their dragons.

He grew stronger the blinder their eyes became.

What real fight could one put up on their knees, their hands folded in prayer?

Labels: Fresh Gravel For Your Craw, ghost, Inktober, Inktober Day 12, Old Crow, Pentel