Two ravens sit silently on a tree limb, staring straight ahead. Neither moves, neither chatters, yet they are still perched beside each other, signifying some sort of companionship.
They are rather large, in relativity to most other ravens, that is. Both are nearly identical in appearance: slick black feathers that coat their body; narrow, spindly legs that somehow manage to hold a good deal of weight; dark, sharp eyes that seem unnaturally perceptive.
Another raven, smaller and slighter than the first two, flies into view. She notices the other ravens, and aims herself in their direction, dropping down on the same tree they are settled, though atop a different branch.
One of the first ravens – the one on the right, closest to the edge of the branch – twists her head a fraction towards the stranger. She darts her eyes briefly in their direction, before resuming her stoic gaze ahead. Her fellow, however, does not so much as twitch. He doesn't give any indication that he has noticed the new bird.
The raven who has just arrived roves a curious eye over the pair, before settling on the male. She cocks her head, hesitates, then rises into the air again and lands on the same branch as the others. Still keeping her gaze on the male, she inches closer to them, her feet side-stepping along the limb. She stops, considers them, waiting for a reaction – but they do not give her one, and merely go on staring ahead impassively.
Not deterred by this, the outsider bends her legs a tad. She then opens her wings to the air, and, her eyes never leaving the male, raises her tail and quivers it back and forth.
She is seeking a mate, it quickly becomes apparent, and she seems to have found someone suitable.
The female of the pair shoots this newcomer a look that one might have said was akin to jealousy. The male still doesn't look at the one who is trying to attract his attention, but his posture does become very stiff, as though annoyed.
When she sees that her actions are for naught, the stranger stops her spectacle, and resumes moving towards them, at the same slow pace, her thin legs shuffling side-to-side. She draws nearer to them, stopping with only a foot's distance between she and the male. Then she repeats what she tried before, lifting her wings out and away from her, and giving her tail feathers gentle shakes.
The first female raven gives a slight tick of her head, irritated, and then looks towards her companion, perhaps as though waiting for a direction from him. The male's body does not move or even twitch under her gaze, but his small black eyes do suddenly flash a vicious white-blue.
There is a sound like several pillow hitting the floor – it is a soft noise, but it still makes a thwunk as contact is made with the ground.
If one is to examine what has just fallen, they shall see a raven lying there. A pretty, pathetic little thing, with her eyes glazed and half-open, her pristine feathers rumpled from the fall. A deep, diagonal cut, running from her neck down to her belly. Blood, dripping out, covering her feathers. She lies motionless.
But none shall arrive to see this until later.
Meanwhile, as though by some unspoken agreement, two more ravens lift off simultaneously from their perch. And they fly into the sky, disappearing amongst the clouds.