The songs remember

It was Raven, not Crow, who met Dumpling at the threshold of Dreaming.

"It's been awhile," she said without pretense. "Where have you been?"

"Here and there. So much to do and so few of us have the energy left to meddle with this business of destiny." Spirit Cat had heard the ruckus of Black Birds, Dumpling suspected the day dreaming was Raven cloaking his calls.

"No," Raven interrupted the woman's speculations. "The cat was accurate in her discerning. She IS a Familiar that makes few mistakes when it comes to knowing the songs of truth. It's always been that way with that one. She heard Crow, and you will need to meet them later. For now, we have a bit of flying to do."

With no more than a split of a blink, Dumpling was soaring. On her own accord the view was unfamiliar. Not especially colorful, she felt Raven's presence as the two of them circled a field of long parched yellow grass. "Sweetgrass," Dumpling recognized it by the scent of its sweet nature. But the smell was more than slightly off. They were riding the thermals over a wide but mottled stretch of prairie. "No gathering," Raven said his voice caught in his bearded throat. "No gathering, no gifts passed. This field will die without having the bend and pull of girls and grandmothers harvesting."

Sweetgrass was not a plant Dumpling knew in real time. The sight of it was a mirror of her most ancient of selves, a self who had names she had forgotten. "Is it important to know?" She asked with that dreamer's voice who asks stupid questions. The stupid questions she'd be too embarrassed to ask another human. But Raven was Raven, and the question needed his answer. He was prepared to answer.