Back home, the old women used to say that crows carried the souls of the dead on their backs. ‘Where’ they carried them was a matter of debate, and varied from grandmother to grandmother; to the halls of victory, to the distorted world, to the Hall of Origin at Arceus’s side. Various grandmothers were in agreement that corviknight was the ideal crow to do the carrying; murkrows were too unreliable, and honchkrow was too much a bully.
He wondered now if it was just old wives’ tales after all.
The morning sun’s first rays had twisted his body into its cursed shape right on schedule. His wings fluttered, his beak