North Rim of the Colorado Grand Canyon.
In a dead tree, a flock of crows was holding a meeting.
Aside from Murphy, the British wizard-crow, everyone present was a friend or relative of the American crow, Miss Bugs Are Tasty.
"Bugs Are Tasty" was actually a transliteration. If this American crow lady's name were translated into human language, it would roughly mean: "Bugs are tasty."
"Caw, Bugs Are Tasty, where did this bird come from? I see he doesn't look much like us. Not good-looking. Very ugly," Bugs Are Tasty's eldest cousin, Gugaji, offered his opinion. "I do not approve of this marriage."
Miss Bugs Are Tasty went right up and yanked a few feathers from her eldest cousin's neck with her beak. "Gujii, go away. You're the ugly one!"
"Coo, good bird from afar," an elderly crow spoke up, with a strong Indian accent. "Why're ya lookin' for that terrible big crawler?"
Murphy heard that there was hope. "Caw, respected old bird, I have a reason why I must find it. This concerns my painful past, which I have never spoken aloud. But in exchange for your help, I am willing to tell my story."
"Caw, my mother and my father once lived on this land. They hunted in the forests and soared in the heights. They were respected hunters and singers."
"But one day, they accidentally strayed into that crawler's territory and awakened that sleeping monster."
"It first turned my mother to stone. My father, grieving and furious, swore revenge, but in the end, he only left a wound on that crawler's nose before falling into eternal sleep."
"Caw, my uncle witnessed all of this with his own eyes and told me of my parents' final heroic bearing. I swore I would make that crawler pay blood for