In the hardscrabble outback of Kalmykia near the Caspian Sea, there lived a raven known for his moody, shadowy disposition. He had survived several political tilt-a-whirls in his country, so he was touchy about his village's stability. In spite of his vast genius and depth of insight, he sometimes let his personal fears and insatiable addiction to Gingerbread cookies co-opt his potential of leading his fellow-feathered corvids towards hope and peace. Alas, life became too much for this much-tormented crow. He died and was buried in the state-owned cemetery. Across his grave marker were the words: Raven; a raging, craving, raving craven maven
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