The gods might not have been listening, but someone else was.
Well. Something else. A white shape against white snow falling softly among the bare branches high above. The black-eyed raven looked down upon the great beast, all wings and fangs and massive claws, and petty envy twisted deep in his little black heart. Oh, what he could do with a shape like that! The sweet terror he could spread, the beautiful carnage he could wreak! He could paint a world red with such power at his disposal, and he sighed at the beauty of the vision.
The corner of the manticore's mouth was already red, only adding to the fantasy until a stray shift in the air brought the scent to the raven's scavenger-nose. Feathers fluffed up in instant anger at the now-familiar, much-despised smell of one of the wretched Roses that had the meatlings in such a fuss. Without conscious thought (not that there was precious much left of that to begin with) the raven slicked his feathers tight to his body and dropped like a white stone, a flicker of wingtip and tailfeather all that he used to adjust his angle as he tried to dive past and grasp the bit of rose hanging from Remi's mouth in his own pale beak, hoping to tear it loose or at least damage it to the point of destruction before the manticore could react.
Well. Something else. A white shape against white snow falling softly among the bare branches high above. The black-eyed raven looked down upon the great beast, all wings and fangs and massive claws, and petty envy twisted deep in his little black heart. Oh, what he could do with a shape like that! The sweet terror he could spread, the beautiful carnage he could wreak! He could paint a world red with such power at his disposal, and he sighed at the beauty of the vision.
The corner of the manticore's mouth was already red, only adding to the fantasy until a stray shift in the air brought the scent to the raven's scavenger-nose. Feathers fluffed up in instant anger at the now-familiar, much-despised smell of one of the wretched Roses that had the meatlings in such a fuss. Without conscious thought (not that there was precious much left of that to begin with) the raven slicked his feathers tight to his body and dropped like a white stone, a flicker of wingtip and tailfeather all that he used to adjust his angle as he tried to dive past and grasp the bit of rose hanging from Remi's mouth in his own pale beak, hoping to tear it loose or at least damage it to the point of destruction before the manticore could react.
