He was six years old when he first saw his father kill someone.

Rephaim was no fool, even at that age; he understood that the people of the village feared the Fallen Angel of Nyx. He just didn't know why. Yes, Kalona lost his temper often, and he liked to hit things when he was angry, as his son had personal experience of. And Rephaim knew he wasn't the only one to suffer this wrath.

Yet, for some reason, he had never thought that this fear stemmed from more than simple tantrums and the occasional beatings. The Cherokee women, some of them his aunts and distant cousins, moved like ghosts around the little village. Their steps were short and halting and they winced often. They shrouded themselves in shawls and tried to hide their faces with them whenever Kalona approached. A futile action. His father saw through everything.

The men, who were so protective and loyal to their female companions, sometimes mustered enough courage to confront Kalona. They demanded to know, in their most confident voices, what he was doing to the women, and if he would cease immediately, please.

Kalona usually didn't grant these pleas any reply; he would smile and raise his eyebrows. And then the men would back down again, inevitably.

When Rephaim first witnessed his father commit the terrible crime of murder, it was on one of these men.

The victim was a prodigious young warrior, the pride and joy of the tribe chief, his father. He led every hunt, was the envy of every other boy and the attraction of every girl. He was tall and strong, smiled often and was kind to everyone.

It made sense to the villagers to send him as their envoy. No one else would dare follow that particular trail through the woods, the one that would eventually lead to that Fallen Angel…and his abomination of a son.

Rephaim stayed hidden in a tree behind his father when the young man approached. He could see better from there, and he wouldn't get in Kalona's way. This, he knew, would be unforgivable. His father sometimes didn't like seeing him, and he would get angry when Rephaim tried to ask why.

' Know your place, youngling, and do not attempt to speak to me again until you have mastered your voice. I will not be spoken to in hisses.'

Rephaim was getting better at speaking like a human, but he still didn't want to test this just yet. What he might count as improvement, his father might not.

So he watched from a respectful distance as the warrior approached his father and bowed to him, lowering his head cautiously. When Kalona motioned for him to continue, he began to speak in a flowing rush of words, most of which Rephaim was too young to understand. His father replied in the same tongue, exchanging a flurry of Cherokee with the increasingly anxious young man. Rephaim listened carefully, but grown ups spoke in strange ways. They never just said what they wanted to. They had to say a thousand other things first.

After a while, he began to lose interest in the conversation. He looked away and watched the little birds on the other trees, ruffling wings that looked so like his. Their feathers weren't as dark, but they shone in the same way.

He was so engrossed that it startled him when his father's voice rose. He quickly switched his attention back to the two men, just in time to see his father grip the young warrior's neck and twist. A horrible snap, and then the body fell to the ground, head flopping uselessly.

Rephaim must have made a noise, thought he wasn't aware of it himself. Kalona's head turned, and his burning eyes found his son's. Something in his expression was so wild, Rephaim automatically flinched.

'Rephaim, son, come hither.'

Trembling, the young raven mocker did as he was told, leaping from the branch and gliding quickly to the ground. He lowered his head and knelt before his father.

'Stand up.'

He stood.

'Did you see what happened?'

'Yesss…. Yes.'

Kalona nodded solemnly and was quiet for a few moments. And then he spoke again. ' Someday, you must learn to do that too. It is called justice. People sometimes act in a way that's unacceptable, and they need to be made pay for it. That is what you saw. I gave that man what he deserved. You will learn to do that too.'

Rephaim nodded. He didn't understand, really, but in years to come, he was made to. It was drilled into him until he couldn't think about taking someone's life in any other way. Murder became justified, and he killed and killed and killed alongside the Fallen Angel who had taught him to.

After all, what else could a raven mocker do?