Brother John opened his eyes and saw the raven flapping in the sea breeze between him and the low blanket of clouds. He lay in the soft sand of the beach, his clothes soaked through.
He had first seen the bird as he sat up on the cliffs near the abbey. He had been recording his journey here from Italy and summarizing his experiences as an acolyte.
At first, he didn't recognize the bird. It had just been a dark spot in the Irish Sea. Once he realized what it was, and that it seemed to be coming toward the beach below him, he began making his way down the sea cliff to the shore.
Where could such a thing be coming from? And how could such a fragile thing have come so far?
