The raven watched the silver haired, child-sized creatures dance, dressed in naught but fur cloths about their loins, and felt the weariness in his bones from his long flight. How nice it would indeed be to rest a while in laughter and song amongst the ancient and beautiful Inir. But the pain in his chest from the iron ring about his heart reminded him of his task. He flew off, leaving the Children of the Dawn to their games and merrymaking.
Next he happened upon a giant woman washing clothes in a large pond. She was old and bent with age and she looked up and smiled when she saw him.
“O’ red bird! Won’t you perch upon my shoulder for awhile and entertain me with tales of thy wanderings whilst I wash my garments?”
“I cannot waste any time whilst my dying friend is suffering. Canst thou not tell me whence I might find the lady of these woods, the Witch of Wings?” replied the raven.