Robin spent her first night with Mark and awoke to a parliament of crows... Is it foreshadowing?
Six is death.
-- English Superstition
Robin woke to the harsh guttural calls just after dawn.
She rolled one her side to nudge Mark, but he wasn't there. Bleary-eyed and off-balance--everything spun counter-clockwise--she placed one foot after the other on the cold hardwood floor. Mark was at the picture-window overlooking the ravine.
He stood stock still, apparently transfixed. He was stark nude, but the muted colors of dawn cast him into a subtle silhouette, a darker shadow against the purples and blues of the Eastern sky. Robin had to appreciate the curve of his form, the unconscious grace with which he stood.
"Tell me you don't always get up this early." Robin said, trying to make more of a joke of it than it was. Well, she didn't know. They'd been dating for weeks but this was the first time he'd slept over, the first time they'd... Robin could already feel the blush spreading from her cheeks, down her neck and across her chest.
Mark was a god, a veritable Adonis in shadows, and all about him, the shadows called, shrieking in rough-grained altos. "What do you call twenty crows in a tree?" Mark whispered.
"An unkindness." Robin said. "Come back to bed. I'm getting cold." She traced a cool finger down his spine, letting it trail across his cheek.
"No. That's ravens. It's a murder of crows. " Mark followed her and sat on the edge of the bed. "I didn't mean to wake you." he caressed Robin's cheek and leaned in to kiss her. "You looked so peaceful. I didn't want to lose that."