Read enough of the old stories and you start to notice a bird in the margins. A raven on a fence post, a raven circling the battlefield, two ravens flying out at dawn and coming home at dusk with the news of the world.

A bird that remembers

Ravens are clever in ways we can measure. They recognise faces, hold grudges, and teach their young which people to avoid. It is no surprise that the storytellers made them the keepers of memory, the ones who see everything and forget nothing.

Up on the high farms, people still speak to them. Not in a mystical way, more like you would greet a neighbour who has been around longer than you. The raven was here before the house. It will be here after.

Watching from the corner

When we tell these stories again, we keep the raven in. Partly out of habit, partly because it feels right to have a witness. Somebody should be watching, and remembering how it really went.