Even in the cold, the ravens will remain. Scottie thought absently as he slouched through the snow of the woods. All the other birds would fly south for the winter months, to warmer climes.

But not the ravens... Never the ravens. They always stayed, no matter how cold or desolate the small Alaskan town got. They would endure, longer than the other animals, feasting on the waste humans left behind and the bones of kills long since passed, picking the frozen meat left behind by wolves and bears that hadn't seen the food as necessary.

The ravens fed on everything… and it terrified him in a way that he couldn't describe.

Scottie had witnessed, from the comfort of a truck with a heater blasting, ravens picking through frozen trash when the temperature was seventy below zero. It always impressed him, the fortitude of these birds. The creatures would peck and claw at the frozen parcels of leftover food, slowly devouring meals so that they could survive in the frigid weather.

Scottie, despite his fear, liked the ravens. He could admire their strength and resilience, and often wondered what drove them on in the face of adversity.

When he asked his father about them, Jim would always turn quiet.

"Don't mess with the ravens' boy," he'd warned. "They're tough little creatures, and they have long memories."

That always made Scottie wonder what he meant by that. His father spoke with utmost respect for the birds; not fear, but respect. Jim didn't respect many animals in Alaska; the bear, and the wolverine being rare exceptions. The rest of the animals he regarded as part of the food chain and viable to hunt, which he did often. He often set up traps for the various foxes and wolves of the forest, knowing he could snag a hungry canid if he was lucky. He knew they were tricky, but he didn't respect them the same way he respected the bear, the wolverine, and the raven. They were all pack mentality, no real cunning or tenacity.

Not like the bear or the wolverine.

That always made Scottie wonder: the bear was huge and strong, with a ravenous appetite. The wolverine was tenacious and bloodthirsty, a pinnacle predator that none dared challenge.

But what made the raven so worthy of his father's respect?

Scottie eventually put it out of mind, continuing to hike with his friends Mark and David into the woods, keeping an eye out for traps, or tracks, and being wary as they marched out to the treehouse.

They'd spent years building it, deep in the woods. As twelve-year-olds in Fairbanks, they were always up to no good, usually paying a homeless man to buy them booze or swiping it from their fathers when they weren't paying attention. All three would buy weed from Iron Joe, an old Nazi that lived on the outskirts of town. They loved to tease him, yelling "Seig Heil!" and watching him reflexively standing and saluting, his years of conditioning still hammered into his mind.

He always charged them more for their weed than any other, but they didn't care. It was funny.

Scottie was the first to notice: the path they were taking to the treehouse had several, no, dozens of ravens sitting in the Spruce trees around them. It wasn't cold enough to make the birds head into town for frozen garbage, but the fresh snow had still made gathering anything to eat a hard effort. Reaching into his pocket, around the bag of weed, he pulled a curled up peanut butter sandwich, unzipping the baggie to fish out the warm, gooey bread.

"What are you doing, fag? We got the beer and weed to enjoy, man!" Mark asked around one of his father's pilfered cigarettes.

"Yeah, hurry. It's too cold to just be standing in the snow," David agreed. Dressed in heavy parkas over long underwear, with gloves and ski caps to protect their ears. They'd scavenged an old iron brazier from a soldier that'd come home from Iraq, which had taken nearly two weeks to move from town to the treehouse. They'd fill the Arabic heater with twigs and branches from the forest floor, and warm themselves around the fire while trading stories.

The treehouse was twenty feet off the ground, a multilevel construction that looked like it had used more than double the amount of nails to fasten the boards to the tree. A trapdoor led to a ladder that dropped them onto the lower level, where they stored excess food, mostly chips in small bags and dried meats from their parents' respective refrigerators. The main level was a wide room with the brazier, along with several benches made from branches jutting through the hastily made structure. A simple "window" was on this level, more of an open space a foot above the floor that was open to the ceiling. It had a terrific view of the forest. The third floor had a ladder that went down the side of the tree fort back to the original ladder.

Scottie looked back at them and nodded up towards the birds. "I wanna feed the ravens, piss off!" Scottie said, to which a raven cawed, starting a series of caws from its friends and family. "They like peanut butter."

"So? They're just stupid birds!" Mark said, kneeling down to gather a handful of snow. Packing it hard in his hands, he threw his hastily made snowball at the gathered birds. It pegged a large raven in the chest, causing the bird to squawk indignantly. The other birds began cawing as if in response to the thrown snowball.

David laughed and set the beers down in the snow, making his own snowballs, which he began pelting at the birds. "Yeah, get out of here, you stupid birds!"

"Guys! Stop it!" Scottie said, pocketing his sandwich in his deep pocket before trudging through the snow back towards his friends. "Let's just go to the tree house and get drunk, okay? I gathered enough firewood last time, so we should be fine."

"Now you're talking!" Mark said, ignoring the cawing that was echoing around them.

David smirked and threw one last snowball at the birds, which missed by a wide margin as they took to the air, wings beating as they quickly ascended into the blue sky with angry cries. They faintly reminded Scottie of his father's respect for the birds and shook his head. It wouldn't do any good to wonder about it now.

They made it to the tree fort and began climbing up the ladder, balancing the two twelve packs of beer between the three of them, Scottie holding the weed with the rolling papers and the brand new Zippo lighter they'd "borrowed" from David's dad. As Scottie entered the trapdoor to the tree fort, he heard a distant cawing, which was echoed by a series of similar calls from the birds of the forest. He just smiled wanly and closed the trapdoor.

David set about piling wood in the large concave iron pan before tucking some dry newspaper beneath the stacked wood. He turned, looking at Scottie. "Toss me the lighter, would you?"

Scottie fished the lighter out of his pocket and handed it to him before moving to gaze out of the window of the fort. Mark reached out the window to grab the pails they always left hanging from the branches, now full of snow. Bringing them into the room, he began stuffing beers from the twelve cases.

"They should be plenty cold as is," Scottie said.

"Yeah, but I don't want them warming up because of the fire," Mark replied as he stuffed a few more beers into the snow. He passed a beer between his friends, and they all cracked the tops at the same time before glugging down a few gulps of the bitter brew.

"Oh man, that hit the spot," David said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "I really needed this."

"What, school got you down?" Scottie asked with a smile.

David shrugged. "Nah, just trying to nab that girl, Mallory, and she's giving me the cold shoulder."

"Mallory O'Neil? Isn't she like sixteen?" Mark asked. They were all fourteen, thus considered uncool by the Juniors and Seniors at Tempest High.

David nodded as he took a sip of his beer. "Yeah, and she's got a killer rack. Totally worth going after."

Scottie nodded. Mallory was his neighbor and was well worth pursuing. She was a total slut, so long as you provided the beer or uppers. She was rumored to enjoy sex when high on shrooms, which Scottie always wondered about. He'd taken them a few times and couldn't imagine sex while hallucinating. Maybe it'd be fun?

Mark grunted, finishing his beer and chucking it out the window. "Stoke the fire, would you, Scottie?"

Scottie was one of the few amongst his friends that could be considered an expert in how to keep a fire going, thanks to his dad. Old Jim was a well-known hunter and survivalist and passed down his knowledge to his sons constantly. An old .22 rifle sat in the fort's corner with a box of shells. They never used it, but sometimes they talked about hunting small animals to skin and cook like their fathers did. Mark was convinced that a decent sized rabbit would be a fit meal for the three boys, but Scottie didn't want to kill anything. He helped his father make deer sausage and tan hides of wolverines caught in bear traps; he knew what it was like.

Bloody with the stench of death and rot.

But he kept silent during these conversations, as he didn't want to be labeled a "wuss" by his friends. He borrowed a cigarette from Mark, lighting the tip on the fire, cracking in the brazier before puffing on the slim cowboy killer. He cracked open a beer and took a sip, half-listening to Mark and David arguing over something stupid.

Instead, his eyes locked on the mass of ravens landing on the branch outside the window, silently peering into the fort with their beady black eyes.

"Um, guys…" Scottie said, trying to get their attention. Mark and David ignored him, even as a dozen ravens hopped through the window and onto the sill, into the room and onto the branch that served as a seat. Four hopped closer to the brazier, while five more came in through the window, eyes set on Scottie. It was around then that Mark noticed the birds.

"What the hell?" He called out, jumping up from his seat. This seemed to be the signal for the mass of birds to all burst into action, surging through the small window and into the room. Scottie dropped to the ground, covering his eyes as the brazier tipped over, fiery logs rolling about the fort as birds swarmed overhead, pecking and clawing at Mark and David.

"Quick!" David screamed, spitting as he swatted at the large birds. "Get the gun!"

Mark lunged for the rifle, seven ravens on his back picking bloody holes through his sweater, thin strips of flesh being choked down over their glimmering beaks.

The ravens, as if they understood what was being said, swarmed over the gun, knocking it over with a loud bang, the rifle going off as it landed against the branch seat. They angled it up, blowing into Mark's chest near the sternum, causing the teen to stumble back and trip over the brazier, falling onto some burning logs with blood gushing from his gut.

Peeking through his hands, Scottie watched as several ravens played with the Zippo, pecking at. Scottie wasn't about to ask, realizing that the situation was about to turn from bad to worse. Scottie stood up and, pulling his jacket over his head to block the offending birds, jumped out onto the branch beneath the window before climbing down.

Halfway down, he heard his friends' screams and the incessant cawing rise in tenor as the flames erupted outward, licking the edges of the windows, billowing smoke a thick, greasy smoke. Ravens were flying out of the tree fort in droves, with one raven the size of an eagle sitting on a far branch, cawing angrily.

Suddenly there were dozens of gunshots, shells heated by the fire, popping off and flying in every direction. He heard David curse and watched as he leapt from the window, most of his body on fire with several gunshot wounds in his stomach and legs. He hit a large flat rock buried beneath the snow with a sickening crack and a pained cry. Not three seconds after he'd landed, a host of ravens descended upon him, wildly pecking at his body where there weren't flames.

Looking up, the treehouse was a blazing inferno, the walls now flaming thanks to the fire they'd had going. The logs had been enough to make the dry timber burn with ease, especially in the dry chill heavy in the air. He heard several more pops, giving Scottie pause, until he saw a glowing aluminum can rocket out of the window, beer fizzing from it wildly.

The beers were bursting from within!

Mark's screams were no longer audible over the roar of the fire and the screeches of the birds. As Scottie reached the forest floor, jacket still overhead, he ran from the large Spruce tree past David's burning body. He saw the great cracks in blackened flesh oozing molten fat and blood, which the birds were happily gobbling up. Turning to look back, Scottie saw that none of the ravens were pursuing him, allowing him to slow to a walk. Standing fifty feet from his friend, he watched as David reached out with a charred hand into the snow, which sizzled at his touch. Birds leapt upon his roasted flesh and tore hunks of meat from him greedily, countless beaks pecking away the gore while they danced around the flames, like the savages of old.

The largest raven, which Scottie could see, sported a bit of white plumage on his chest, cawed loud and long, silencing the other birds. The sounds of the forest were gone, save for the crackling of fire and David's pained groans. It hopped down from its perch outside the window to a low branch, where it watched the flock slowly killing David, popping his eyes and drinking the fluids they could reach with their long beaks while tearing at his melted lips to get at his swollen tongue.

"Scottie," David gasped, blindly waving his hen-pecked arm, the burnt coat dotted with dozens of bleeding holes under tattered remnants of a burnt jacket, his skin patchy and burned as well. "Get help! Help me, get 'em off!"

"Help!" The large raven cawed, which the remaining ravens in the surrounding trees, which Scottie hadn't seen, cawed and hooted as if they were laughing. Horrible, horrible taunting noises that made the birds seem more and more human with each passing second.

Now Scottie understood why his father respected the ravens. The bear may be strong to track you for miles, the wolverine may be bloodthirsty and tenacious, but the ravens were smart. They'd coordinated this attack, and Scottie knew that they'd spared him. There were hundreds of beady black eyes staring at David's burning body, some tilting their heads to the side to look at Scottie.

"What are you?" Scottie asked slowly, backing away from the scene as more ravens descended upon David's writhing form, wings buffeting snow up onto the flames to douse them, to prolong his suffering. The tree house was crumbling now, flaming debris falling to the forest floor to melt snow and spread along the broken branches and dead grass.

"What are you? What are you?" Several dozen ravens echoed the question as even more laughed their wicked laughs, something that seemed to echo throughout the wood as the crackle of flames danced higher. The large raven peered down its beak, eyeing Scottie with an intensity he only ever saw in the eyes of his father when he was judging whether Scottie was lying when telling a story. It didn't make him feel any more at ease.

"What… are you?" The large raven asked, jabbing its head forward as if pointing a finger.

"I'm… a child. Just like him. A… a chick! What you're doing is murder! Murder! Stop it!" Scottie cried out, not daring to approach his friend, who was slowly crawling through the blood-drenched snow as dozens of birds sat atop his body, still pecking at his smoking form as others hopped around him.

"Murder! We… are… Murder!" The large raven said, spreading its black wings wide as it spoke, the surrounding flock chirping and cawing as it spoke, as if it were some brilliant orator, instead of merely mimicking things that Scottie was saying.

Scottie couldn't argue with the large raven, though, as he watched David go still, two ravens stabbing into his neck and pulling a vein out, slurping it between them like a thick worm as blood gushed from the hole. David's eye sockets wept bloody tears, which grew even messier as ravens began darting their heads into the holes to peck at his brain.

"Go away!" The large raven called to Scottie, waving one wing at him as if dismissing him. "Never return!"

Scottie turned to run, fire raging into the surrounding trees with an intensity that made Scottie sweat beneath his parka. Scottie didn't even think about what the large raven had said. He would later murmur the statement while lying in bed, listening to his father's complaints about the wildfire in the forest just outside of town.

Never return… Scottie thought as he pulled his blanket up around him tighter.

He'd never said those words to the large raven. It'd said that all on its own.

He winced as he heard the distant caw of a bird outside his bedroom window, flinching as he listened to the wings beat together in the frigid night air.