Black feathers.
They brush the darkened sky with light caresses.
Silken and soft.
Wing on Raven.
Beneath the silent moon.
Over the seas, where salt spray bathes your wings,
Over the mountains where icy winds cross your wake,
Over the desert where bleach white bones catch your eye.
Wing on Raven.
Wing to the silver river, silent in its never-ending trek.
Dip your wings in its water,
Feel the chill in your immortal soul.
You must pass through the river once more, Raven,
For it is Styx.
The gateway to the other world, the nether world.
The mirror world.
You are Cheron, Raven, and your journey is nearly done.
Pass beneath the surface of the water.
Here the world is silver and white,
And cold as ice.
Wing on Raven.
Pass through the ivory halls,
The alabaster chambers.
Windows hung in moonlight, dusted with starshine.
It is the night world.
Wing on, to the chamber of ice where the cowled king
Sits upon his marble throne.
Light on his skeletal arm, Raven.
Place the obol in his outstretched hand.
Linger not, return to the dayworld, the trueworld.
Return to the world of the living once more.