A disheveled Mary sat on the ground in a clearing within a deep, dark forest.  She peered vacantly at a blank journal page, a feather pen waving aimlessly about in her hand.  Just beyond the glow, amongst the trees, a number of eyes watched Mary.  One pair moved forward, and a magnificent leather and lace streetwise-looking character appeared.  It smoothed its fur, sauntered over, quietly circled and examined Mary, and then stopped behind her.

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“What are you doing?” the creature asked.

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“Writing,” Mary answered, oblivious to the source of the question.

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“But there are no markings on the page.”

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Mary took a deep breath.  “Yes, I’m having a hard time starting.”

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“Little wonder with your writing instrument fighting you so.”

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Mary blinked and realized she held the foot of a raven, struggling to free itself.  Mary jerked back and released the captive, which fluttered up, losing one of its wing feathers, which drifted slowly to the ground and landed next to Mary.