HRAERKEN TO ME, my love.

As one grows tired of the daytime, and longs for nightnest sleep, so one tires of this life. I yearn for my death, and the holy Peace of Darkness. This longday has been greatly tiring. Few are the tasks accomplished of those that I set out to do for myself. But there is a lethargy upon my pinions now, and worse, a weariness in my mind. This is hard to explain to one who is so much younger in this world; one so full of bright enthusiasm for life. And so you rightly should be. So was I; the aeondawn was bright with laughter and loving, and the innocent belief that we could make this world to be as beautiful as our hopes.

So I have watched you in our exile, and heard your call from afar and near. It hath given me my quiet smile, and a contentment deeper within. It is pleasing to see you cloudweaving in the sunshine. And in your efforts to cleanse this world of sorrow, I wish you better luck than I had. My benediction and my love goes with you. But I, I will need my rest soon. I turn my bill toward the Darkness, and I have no regrets. For my last days of this land have been filled with the simple joy of beholding lithe young beauty in flight; do not mar the innocence of your face with tears now!

Let me depart this place on mine own wings, while I yet have the strength in my bones and heart. Wherever the Last Wind shall carry me, I am borne upon a breath of loveliness. Do not take this from me, my last greatlove of this land. My only remaining longflight has no landing upon any tree that is wholly in this world. So I need the power of your flywell wish; my journey is to speak with the winged mindshadows of those that have searched without finding, and passed before me into the feylands where the sky is not blue. I must tell those of my Dark Brethren, they who have waited in long silence. And I am honoured to be the one so chosen to bear this message: That all will be well with the world of mixed-light-dark-shadows, and that I have had speech with thee: my beloved: White Crow.

+++++++++++[END CAW TRANSCRIPT]+++++++++++
+++++++++[BEGIN RECORDER'S REPORT]+++++++++

REPORT DEPOSITED AT MOUNTAIN-TREE-GATEWAY.

I, acting-dutyscribe Hraeven at Cathair Idrys MTG took this report from a frail-seeming Hraeven that flew in, spiralling down by night and silence. Would not give name nor flightpath, and bade me to look away when making a bow to the direction of a lostlove memory. Claimed Poet's Portion, and ate as ravenously as only the True Perpetrators of that Word know how. Flew off before the dawn. Straight upwards. May the flight be well.

I forward this report duly encrypted to Corvo-eyne-only, and under seal of the Black Rose. By the Tears of Skylady do I swear wholetruth in what I have here recorded, as being the verbatim caws of that Hraeven. On the lucknight of the fullmoon before Ides of March, three turns of Springjoy before the dawning of the third millennium of the popular dead prophet, in the scale of that place wherein I scribe.

HRAERRRK! We are blessed to be fledged under the same Blue Skies as the White Corvid, may't please the High Corvidae!

+++++++++++[END RECORDER'S REPORT]+++++++++++
+++++++++[BEGIN TRANSLATOR'S REPORT]+++++++++

TRANSLATORS NOTE: It is interesting to note that this is a good example of the Early Corvine time-system... or rather, of the complete lack of one.... Although they had a poetically-refined sense of consequential ethics, they seem generally not to have given great regard to any objective measure of serial time. The reporter has clearly persevered with an unfamiliar concept here, perhaps because it was felt necessary in a formal report. As the context of their local date scheme eludes me, I have translated those bill-scribed caws literally, without attempt at further interpretation.