How long I'd been unconscious, I didn't know. My eyes opened to a sea of murky greys, browns and greens. Recall of what had happened sliced into my brain as a sharp pain tore through my wing and shoulder. No doubt, I had also accumulated extra bruising from my crashing through the branches of the apple tree.

I gingerly turned my head to look at my wing. Spread wide, primaries open, it was dangling, limp, over the edge of the broad limb on which I lay. 

The arrow had snapped on the way down, both at its head and just below the cresling. The remaining shaft was still considerable. 

I was going to have to extract it and hope it had not severed any crucial muscles. If it had, then I could lose the ability to fly altogether. I was dreading my next move; I knew it was going to be painful.

Sweet Elune! I hated being right sometimes! 

I omitted a lengthy screech and rapid clicks as my body weight rolled to one side, allowing easier access to the broken arrow. My body shuddered with the agony. Panting, I bided my time until the pain subsided; then I took the shaft in my beak. 

I counted to three then tugged. Further pain shot through my wing - I had to stop. Rolling onto my back again, caused my injured wing to thrash, and convulse, pain like fire coursing through my body. 

Although it didn't help me, I now understood why Sarah cursed so profusely whenever she hurt herself. Despite their ineffectiveness, a few expletives raced through my mind. 

As I lay, trying to find the courage to try again, I recalled Sarah's colourful language when she was in labour. No, it didn't help ease her pain, but it worked towards her shredding my skin as her nails dug into my hand. Inwardly, I smiled, for the joy we felt after seeing our newborn son, transcended all pain and discomfort.

On that note, I gathered my thoughts and focused once more. I grabbed the shaft, and this time I did not let go, although my entire body protested. I kept tugging and tugging until the arrow was removed. 

Panting again, I let the piece of wood slip from my beak onto the soft lawn below. The exertion had drained me, and I felt my mind slipping to oblivion.

I was pulled awake by a woman's voice shouting. Her words at first were muffled as my hearing adjusted, but her fragmentary vocals soon became clear. 

"Do you hear me, Dane? I said get down from that tree!" the woman's voice was a throaty rasp.

A shadow fell over me. Ordinarily, I would have panicked, but I felt too weak to muster even a shudder. Another more youthful voice then spoke. "I'm fine, mother! I've gotta rescue this bird."

The woman responded with a low growl. "If Sarah comes back and sees you clambering all over her garden, she'll be furious."

"No she won't, she'll be fine. I do it all the time," the younger replied, a hint of mirth in their tone.

"You what? Dane! I'm warning you..."

As the woman's voice droned on, I felt small hands carefully slipping under my body and lifting me. "What's your story then, birdie?" 

A small face came into view - a young boy, with a mop of black hair and bright blue eyes. He was vaguely familiar, but I did not have the energy to work it out I was feeling weaker by the moment. 

"No time for dallying," the boy said quietly. "You need help." With that, he placed me in what I can only describe as a sling which was tied around his neck. 

Although he tried to be careful, the transition from tree limb to the ground was painful for me, and I managed a rather pathetic caw with a click of my beak as he then carried me as if I was a delicate flower.

I had no idea where we were going, but I sensed it would not be far. The boy moved slowly as if trying his best not to cause me more discomfort. I looked up as his face peered into the sling. 

"How you holding up, birdie?" he asked with a smile. 

The woman's voice stopped him in his tracks. "Today of all days, and you show such disrespect!" she said hotly, tugging the boy's ear.

 "Ow!" Dane complained. "But mother, it is with respect that I rescue this bird." I could just make out the boy smoothing down his hair before the folds of the sling flopped over me.

"And just how do you make that out?"

"Look!" he opened the sling so she could look inside. "I heard its cries from across the wall, mama, and I just had to come over and rescue it."

A look of genuine surprise spread on the woman's face. She raised her hand to the boy again, but this time she gently cupped his chin. "Oh, Dane," she said softly. "You realise it's not..."

"Yes, I know mother," Dane replied sadly. "But, it is a raven, and I thought it fitting to show some kindness to it. Besides, it is quite badly injured."

The boy's mother smiled and nodded. "I understand, son. Okay, let's get him inside and see what we can do."

The boy manoeuvred the sling carefully so he held me with both hands as he followed his mother. A six-foot stone wall loomed in front of us. Dread suddenly engulfed me.

"We will go the proper way this time, Dane," his mother said. "You cannot go over the wall with the bird; you will risk injuring him more and yourself."

The boy glanced down at me, looking a little shamefaced. He turned back and headed towards the iron gate, which led out into the back alley. I was very thankful his mother had intervened.  

I started to feel very sleepy, but each time my head lolled to the side, Dane would nudge me with his thumbs to make me alert again. 

Even in the boy's hands, I felt the chill of perpetual winter ripple over me like the ebb and flow of the sea. It was oddly comforting, even enticing, but I could not allow it to seduce me. I had reason to live, and this young boy and his mother were going to help me regain some of my strength at least.

Time had no meaning to me anymore. I could not gauge how long I had wandered in the land between sleep and wakefulness, all I knew, was I was safe, and these kind souls had taken me in.

At one point, I discovered myself on a table in what I assumed was their kitchen. Above me, tightly bound bouquets of herbs and dried flowers hung from a pulley as well as an array of pots and pans. I could hear something bubbling on a stove off to my right. 

The smell of whatever was cooking was a strange aroma indeed, not exactly pleasing to my nostrils, but neither was it objectionable. I moved my head a little when I heard the thud of pottery placed nearby. 

The woman plucked some of the dried herbs and flowers from the pulley and placed them into a mortar, then grinding them with a pestle, added a viscous, ochre-coloured liquid. She blended the ingredients methodically, adding a little extra of whatever she felt was required.

"Now, gently spread his injured wing, Dane. I need to clean the wound first." 

She moved away for a few moments, then returned with a small bowl and cloth. I recalled Amy, similarly aiding me in the quaint town of Lakeshire. 

I screeched as I felt the cloth and warm water connect with my broken flesh. The rough ridges of crusted blood gave way and peeled away under the damp cloth. The woman was as gentle as she could, but still, it hurt; it felt like sandpaper against my grazed skin. My beak clicked several times, but she was diligent in cleaning my wound. 

Dane stroked my chest and head, making soft hushing sounds as his mother placed small amounts of the herb concoction onto my wound. It's cooling, soothing properties removed the sting of the cloth and gradually all tension in my body dissolved. Only slight aches remained.

"Will he be alright now?" I heard Dane ask his mother.

"Yes, he is lucky, for it is not as serious as I first thought, but he will need sleep..."

My saviours' voices grew faint, distant. The last thing I saw was a box lined with strips of soft, fragrant fabric in which I surrendered to a peaceful, dreamless slumber.