I. Crows
Boromir dreams of black shapes on the horizon, flying down southwards towards the city.
"Ravens?" he wonders. "What news do they bear from the Northlands?"
But the shapes draw nearer, and his heart fills with dread. Not ravens. Crebain.
They circle overhead, around and around, a huge flock of carrion crows. "Death," they cry, "death."
"For whom?" he asks.
"Death," they repeat. "Death. Death."
Suddenly, they swoop down towards him, and he flattens himself against the wall. "Death," they laugh, "death for the son of Gondor!"
He wakes in his father's house, to silence.