Deep in the very heart of the woods, miles and miles from the nearest village, a young maiden named Anann lived with her mother in a little wooden cottage.

They lived a quiet, peaceful life, living off of the fruits of the land, trading on occasion with what few merchants passed through the forest. Anann's mother was a kind and gentle woman, and she taught her daughter all that she knew- how to find food in the forest, to cook and bake, to knit and sew, to tend to the sick… and to sing.

Anann was a lovely girl, with long, dark hair and rosy cheeks, but 'twas her singing that was loveliest of all. When she wandered through the woods in search of berries and wild herbs, she sang a song her mother had sung for her as a child:

Songbird, songbird, whist'ling in the tree
Songbird, won't you come and sing to me?
Sing to me the music of the sky,
From your little home so very high.

As Anann sang, her voice rang throughout the forest, and it was heard by every creature of the wild. Even the songbirds themselves were enchanted by her song. All who passed through the woods carried word of the singing maiden and her beautiful voice, and whispers of her fairness were heard even by the royal family in their castle.

However, there was one person who dreaded the sound of Anann's song: a cruel old witch, who lived in a cave in the darkest corner of the wood. Her skin was wrinkled and bumpy as the twisted staff she carried, and her voice was hoarse as the screeching of an old crow. When the witch heard Anann singing as she passed through the trees, she scowled with jealousy. "I'll put a curse on that foolish girl," she muttered, "and she'll never sing a single note again!"

One stormy night, the witch put on her cloak and hobbled up to the front door of the cottage where Anann and her mother lived. Three times she knocked, and Anann opened the door, wondering who would be visiting at such an hour.

"Excuse me, young lady," the witch croaked, "may I please come inside? I am lost, and it's so cold outside…"

"Let the poor woman in, Anann. She must be a traveler who got caught in the storm," Anann's mother called.

"Yes, mother," Anann replied, and let the witch inside.

The old woman removed her cloak and leaned on her staff. "Dear, are you not the young woman who sings to the trees? I recognize your beautiful voice."

"You do?" Anann blushed.

"Indeed, I do… and I wish never to hear it again!" The witch raised her staff, cackling, and surrounded the young maiden with a black cloud. Anann screamed… and was turned into a big, ugly raven!

The witch turned to Anann's mother, who grabbed a knife and brandished it at the hag. "Return my daughter at once, witch!" she cried.

Sneering, the old woman struck Anann's mother with a bolt of lightning, and she fell to the floor, dead.

Anann cried out, but her voice had become the squawk of the raven, hideous and fearsome. The witch raised her staff once more, and pointed it at her.

Just in time, Anann fled out the front door, flapping her wings as hard as she could. The witch's lightning spell chased her out into the night.

She flew and flew, lost in the darkness of the storm, crying in grief. Though she knew this part of the woods well by day, she could see nothing through the rain. Finally, exhausted, she perched on the branch of a tree and fell asleep.

When she awoke, the sun had risen. Anann began to sing again, but despaired at the sound of her own voice, screeching and horrible. The more she tried, the more pitiful she sounded.

Suddenly, she heard footsteps from below. There was a man passing beneath the tree, a young man in fine clothes with a long cape of green. He looked up at Anann and smiled.

"Were you the one singing, raven?" he called. "I've heard there is a maiden with a beautiful voice who lives in this very forest. You must envy her."

Anann was saddened to hear the young man's words. The witch's magic had worked, and she might never sing again.

"Still, I think you are very lucky to be a bird. You can fly as high as you like, and see the whole of the forest… and I might not find my way back to the city for days."

Hearing this, Anann decided to help the young man. Perhaps her curse was not so terrible if she could put it to good use.

She spread her wings and took flight, soaring high above the trees. The view was more beautiful than anything she had seen before; she could see everything, from the edge of the forest to the city and the castle in the distance.

Anann returned to the young man, chirping and fluttering her feathers. She hopped from branch to branch, leading him toward the bridge to the city.

The man laughed, but he was grateful. "You are smarter than you look! Lead the way."

The two travelled side by side, making their way through the woods. Through dense thickets and sunny clearings they passed, through fallen leaves and fresh green grasses, until they reached the river's crossing. But they did not notice that the witch had been watching them.

When they arrived at the bridge, the old crone was waiting there. She looked up at the young man, leaning on her staff.

"Young man," she croaked, "would you help a tired old woman make her way back home? I've been lost in the storm, and oh, how my bones ache…"

"Well, of course," the man said. "I, too, am returning to the city, and I couldn't have found my way out of the woods without my friend, the raven."

The witch glanced at where Anann was perched on a branch and smiled wickedly. Anann was struck with fear. She could only imagine what horrible plans the witch might have in store for the poor man. She had to stop her!

With all her strength, Anann rushed at the hag and pecked at her eyes. She circled the old woman's head, flapping and clawing, until the witch was so angered that she raised her staff and fired a bolt of lightning into the air.

"You're a witch!" the young man gasped, drawing his sword.

The witch cursed, shaking her staff. "Draw your sword upon me, and I shall kill you where you stand!"

The two fought, spell pitted against sword, as Anann looked on in fear. The old woman was cunning, but she was soon outmatched by the limber and graceful lad. When she lifted her staff to summon a great storm, he plunged his sword into her heart, and she was slain.

With the witch's death, the curse was broken, and Anann found herself human once again! The young man was shocked to see that the ugly raven had become a beautiful young woman.

"Are you the maiden of the forest?" he asked. "The girl who sings to the trees?"

"I am," Anann answered. "My name is Anann. That evil witch killed my mother, and put a curse on me so that I might never sing again… but you have saved me."

The young man smiled. "My lady, I am the prince of this land. I came to this forest in search of you, to find out if the rumors were true. Will you sing for me?"

Anann was shocked to hear it. The prince! Searching for her! But she obliged, and sang her song for him:

"Songbird, songbird, whist'ling in the tree
Songbird, won't you come and sing to me?
Sing to me the music of the sky,
From your little home so very high."

As she sang, the prince was enraptured by her voice. "Anann," he said, "your voice is as lovely as you are. Please, come with me to my palace! I want all the kingdom to hear your song."

Anann accepted the prince's offer, and her heart was filled with joy once again. The two returned to the castle together. Before long, they were wed, and the princess was known throughout the land as the beautiful songbird of the woods. And so it was, for the rest of their lives.


It was the last page. Morrigan closed the book.

She flipped it over and examined the cover again. It was a well-crafted book for one carried by a traveling merchant- bound in rich green leather, with faded gold letters carved in. "Ten Tales for Children."

The last story was one that appeared in most of the anthologies she had read over the years. Sometimes it was set in Orlais and the heroine was named Annette. Sometimes she became a crow or a jackdaw. In some, the girl had no mother. One variation even had the witch shapeshift into a lovely young maiden herself, hoping to seduce the prince.

But always, the witch was slain and the maiden became a princess.

Morrigan slid the book back into its place among the others. This tree had a large and convenient hole in its trunk, directly next to a branch that was wide and comfortable for sitting. It was her hiding place of choice for the collection she had accumulated.

Reading of the maiden-turned-raven had reminded her of what she was supposed to be doing: studying.

"Go and find a raven," Mother had said, "and watch it. Watch how it walks, how it flies, how it hunts for food. You have to understand it, Morrigan, before you can become like it."

Morrigan had found one of the birds, and had crept up behind it as silently as she was able, until she stepped on a twig. The raven broke for the sky, leading her to this tree again.

She peered down into the woods below. The only sound was the breeze.

With both hands, Morrigan swung herself down from the tree and into a pile of dead leaves. Mother would surely make her demonstrate what she had learned when she came home. She had best return to the task at hand.