Silver flakes drifted down, glittering in the bright light of the rising, harvest moon.  The blackbird swoops down through the thick brambles of tree limbs and falling leaves.  During each night, the blackbird travels from tree to tree.  It collects the long, lost souls of the fallen.  It is the collector, the messenger of death.  With wings of black silk and beady black eyes, the bird sinks to the ground.  Seeking others, the blackbird hears a strange sound.  Then from above comes a swooping figure.  It is a glorious black hawk.  A strange bird almost nonexistent.  The redeemer of lost souls.  Together they meet and together they part.  They met as enemies, they depart as friends.  Into the next world they travel.  Lost to time forever.  These birds travel the great and wild world together.  They enjoy their time to the moon and back.  Because there time is short, they spend it wisely.  After the moon sets on the thirteenth of November, their time is up and taken with no amount of remorse.  The time is gone.  The once glorious magnificent black hawk has been reduced to nothing.  His feathers, once shining and glossy, are now brittle and weak.  This redeemer of lost souls is becoming the very thing he seeks.  He must return to the under world.  The world in which evil lurks at every corner.  The small blackbird tries to revive the redeemer; however, it is sadly, too late.  The blackbird must collect his soul, so they part as friends once again.