In the heart of an ancient forest, under the watchful gaze of a blood-red moon, three crows gathered on a gnarled branch. Each crow carried a unique story, their silhouettes etched against the vibrant backdrop of the night sky. The eldest crow, with its wise eyes and weathered feathers, stood as the guardian of secrets. The middle crow, with a mischievous glint in its eye, was the storyteller, weaving tales of old. The youngest crow, still learning the ways of the world, listened intently, absorbing every word.
Their gathering was not by chance but by a deep-rooted tradition passed down through generations. This night, under the full moon, they shared stories of bravery, love, and loss, each tale more captivating than the last. The eldest crow spoke of battles fought long ago, the middle crow recounted legends of heroes and villains, and the youngest crow added his own spin to these timeless narratives.
