Her gloriously pink tail twitches. Peach, rose, and magenta, a thousand shades of color mingling in mammal fur. You think you see her smile. "That's good, you know. You are open to discovery. You are open to delightful feelings of surprise. Good, sometimes, to stand on the brink, not knowing what will happen."

In a flash, she's disappeared. Robbing you of the chance to speak further. You turn your head, and catch a glimpse of something darker than shadow on the branch of yet another tangled tree.

The crow bristles as you stare. "Sometimes, of course, it's just the calm before the storm." Crow caws loudly, and you can't help but feel a shiver down your spine at the unearthly sound of it. Maybe unearthly is the wrong word: maybe it's too earthly. It sounds like something deeper than time. Like something that carries more meaning, more feeling and weight, than any word in your vocabulary. Crow's wings spread; it's like this bird is showing off everything you do not have.

"There's an unpleasant tension in the waiting game. Instead of waiting for life to grab you -- or unfold carefully before you, like a flower, which is rather unlikely -- why don't you follow me?"

Crow takes flight. You've got a choice now, and it's a heavy one. Do you remember the taste of downy feathers?

[I'll follow.] 7.
[I'll leave Crow be, and go somewhere else.] 8.