[Rimbaud]

Fingot flew on seemingly heedless for a time. Pip’kha was just rephrasing his question, when the veteran began a recital, in a low and breathy monotone, as if from some deep memory.

“We pass knowledge down through tales and so I pass this on to you. One of my daughters holds most of my knowledge also, now, for I am not foolhardy in my age.

“You talk of times so far past that crows should not remember. Yet despite the passage of nearly five thousand winters we do, for such is the power of the tale I tell. The city is called by the evil manipulating Elves, Ost-in-Edhil and once it was a revolting affront to the Powers that cradle us, young Pip’kha. White spires and pale stone buildings thrust from the Master’s Earth like a dagger through its heart.

“It was built upon the doings of two of the Enemy’s foulest minions, by their language Galadriel and Celeborn.” He clacked a reasonable approximation of the syllabic impetus of the words, more for effect than any didactic reason. He went on, ignoring the pain in his wings and in his heart.

“At this time, all those winters and moons ago, the Elves were companionable with the cave-dwelling pit diggers of the mountains. They between them constructed things out of the earth, and pretty baubles.” He and Pip’kha shook their head together at the folly of land grubbing creatures. “But after a time, our Master decided that the time to rid the land of such monstrosities was come, and through his cunning tongue and awesome power, he destroyed Ost-in-Edhil and sacked its futile towers. He turned the Elves against their own masters!” His eyes glittered with vicarious joy. “'Twas in this city that many things were made, and lost and found and broken and remade. It was in this city where our great Master leveled a blow of might upon our Enemies. The buildings of the land-shapers and earth-toilers were flattened.”

He paused for a time, and the murder strained forward around them.

“Ghosts remain. And other things. I hope we do not settle there for any time.”

No more could the younger crow get from him. He fluttered back some way in the mass, his mind racing.