You have been led to the place of the bone ravens. They are just what they sound like. They feast on bones. Freshly extracted and wet. Dripping with life. Their beaks are razors. Their claws are scalpels. Their eyes dark and heartless.

The bone ravens land one by one. Gathering. Feathers whisper like corn stalks. This language you do understand. It is an expression of a primal need.

Of Hunger.