“The soft-winged shepherds of the dead. To see one is an honour, for it means a gentle end and a safe journey.
They’re known for their patience and sombre bearing, yet those who’ve seen them (and lived to tell of it) have glimpsed hard, black armour under their shadowy robes. But I only ever met one woman brave or mad enough to detain a Crow in their duty and actually ask.
She told me even she couldn’t believe the question came out of her mouth, and it was with a mingled feeling of surprised triumph and utter horror that she saw the robed figure pause in his task and then turn to face her.
In a voice as soft and dark as the dreaming sea, he said, ‘A freshly severed soul is a powerful and precious thing. The hinterland is full of claws and hunger. When we take a soul, we protect it.’ “

(From my work-in-progress story.)

Acrylic, watercolours, pastels, an ominous sense of foreboding, and pencils on paper, 21×29 cms.

Original character from a story in progress: Raven shepherd of the dead.