Nowica

A flock of carcasses befouls the air as Bronek counts his losses by a fence. Two cawing ravens loom above, and their huge beating wings dispel the awful stench. The howls he hears usurp his strength of will— the howls of wolves down through Magora pass. He stands as stone-faced as the ancient hills, not knowing whether to move on, or back. The ravens have descended with the dark to pounce upon the white entrails of sheep. And soon with swollen maws they will ascend. They'll fly to backwoods through a land of stars still inaccessible to claws and beaks, a land pure as the dew is innocent.