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Midway between a certain blue lake and a deep forest there once stood a cottage, called by its owner “The Rookery.” The forest shut out the sunlight and scowled upon the ground, breaking with shadows every ray that fell, until only a few little pieces lay scattered about. But the broad lake invited all the rays to come and rest upon her, so that sometimes she shone from shore to shore, and the sun winked and blinked above her, as though dazzled by his own reflection. The cottage, which was very small, had sunny windows and dark windows. Only from the roof could you see the mountains beyond, where the light crept up in the morning and down in the evening, turning all the brooks into living silver as it passed. But something brighter than sunshine used often to look from the cottage into the forest, and something even more gloomy than shadows often glowered from its windows upon the sunny lake. One was the face of little Ruky Lynn; and the other was his sister’s when she felt angry or ill-tempered. They were orphans, Cora and Ruky, living alone in the cottage with an old uncle. Cora—or “Cor,” as Ruky called her—was nearly sixteen years old, but her brother had seen the forest turn yellow only four times. She was, therefore, almost mother and sister in one. The little fellow was her companion night and day. Together they ate and slept, and—when Cora was not at work in the cottage—together they rambled in the wood, or floated in their little skiff upon the lake.

Ruky had bright, dark eyes, and the glossy blackness of his hair made his cheeks look even rosier than they were. He had funny ways for a boy, Cora thought. The quick, bird-like jerks of his raven-black head, his stately baby gait, and his habit of pecking at his food, as she called it, often made his sister laugh. Young as he was, the little fellow had learned to mount to the top of a low-branching tree near the cottage, though he could not always get down alone. Sometimes when, perched in the thick foliage, he would scream, “Cor! Cor! Come, help me down!” his sister would answer, as she ran out laughing, “Yes, little Crow! I’m coming.” Perhaps it was because he reminded her of a crow that Cora called him her little bird. This was when she was good-natured and willing to let him see how much she loved him. But in her cloudy moments, as the uncle called them, Cora was another girl. Everything seemed ugly to her, or out of tune. Even Ruky was a trial; and, instead of giving him a kind word, she would scold and grumble until he would steal from the cottage door, and, jumping lightly from the door-step, seek the shelter of his tree. Once safely perched among its branches he knew she would finish her work, forget her illhumor, and be quite ready, when he cried “Cor! Cor!” to come from the cottage with a cheery, “Yes, little Crow! I’m coming! I’m coming!” No one could help loving Ruky, with his quick, affectionate ways; and it seemed that Ruky, in turn, could not help loving every person and thing around him. He loved his silent old uncle, the bright lake, the cool forest, and even his little china cup with red berries painted upon it. But more than all, Ruky loved his golden-haired sister, and the great dog, who would plunge into the lake at the mere pointing of his chubby little finger. In fact, that finger and the commanding baby voice were “law” to Nep at any time. Nep and Ruky often talked together, and though one used barks and the other words, there was a perfect understanding between them. Woe to the straggler that dared to rouse Nep’s wrath, and woe to the bird or rabbit that ventured too near!—those great teeth snapped at their prey without even the warning of a growl. But Ruky could safely pull Nep’s ears or his tail, or climb his great shaggy back, or even snatch away the untasted bone. Still, as I said before, every one loved the child; so, of course, Nep was no exception.
One day Ruky’s “Cor! Cor!” had sounded oftener than usual. His rosy face had bent saucily to kiss Cora’s upturned forehead, as she raised her arms to lift him from the tree; but the sparkle in his dark eyes had seemed to kindle so much mischief in him that his sister’s patience became fairly exhausted. “Has Cor nothing to do but to wait upon you?” she cried, “and nothing to listen to but your noise and your racket? You shall go to bed early to-day, and then I shall have some peace.” “No, no, Cor. Please let Ruky wait till the stars come. Ruky wants to see the stars.” “Hush! Ruky is bad. He shall have a whipping when Uncle comes back from town.” Nep growled. “Ha! ha!” laughed Ruky, jerking his head saucily from side to side; “Nep says ‘No!’”

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Cora’s brow furrowed as she attempted to maintain her authority over her younger brother. His antics coupled with Nep’s loyalty only made her feel more frustrated. The cottage, which was meant to be a sanctuary for them, seemed to vibrate with Ruky’s exuberance, aggravating Cora’s cultivated quietude. She glanced toward the blurry line where the forest met the lake, torn between her irritation and the sight of her brother’s joyful spirit.

“Ruky, you know how Uncle feels about your noise. You must learn to be quieter,” she managed to say, although the fondness in her tone wavered under the weight of her annoyance.

“Ruky loves Uncle!” he replied cheerfully, “but Uncle will be back soon! Just a little longer, Cor! Just until the stars come!” The boy’s plea was peppered with a hopeful lilt and a twinkling hope that made it difficult for Cora to sustain her irritation.

She knew he could be relentless, and his innocent eyes emitted a brightness that reminded her of the very stars he yearned to see. “Just until the stars come, then it’s bed!” she finally conceded, trying to suppress a smile that threatened to break past her stern resolve.

“Yay!” Ruky exclaimed, his laughter illuminating the dimness around them. Within moments, he was swinging his legs excitedly, his feet barely touching the thick branches of the tree, yearning not just for the stars but for the freedom of adventure that came with childhood.

“Well, if you’re going to stay up, then you must be quiet,” Cora said, crossing her arms, half-exasperated but fully aware that her heart was softening. “If Uncle catches you making noise, he won’t let you stay up at all!”

Ruky nodded gravely, even as the mischievous spark danced behind his eyes. He took a deep breath, trying to stifle the excitement bubbling within him. “Ruky will be a good little birdie. Right, Nep?” he looked down at the big dog, who sat patiently at the trunk of the tree, his tail thumping encouragingly against the ground.

“Woof!” Nep replied, wagging his tail. It was an enthusiastic response meant to reassure Ruky that he wasn’t alone.

As they waited, the colors of dusk began to drape the land. The forest transformed, shadows elongating and deepening, while the lake took on a mirror-like quality, reflecting the fiery oranges and tranquil purples of the sunset. The scene played out like a painting, and Ruky leaned forward, his eyes wide, awaiting the ascent of the stars.

Finally, at long last, twinkling lights began to shimmer across the vast canvas of the night sky, and Ruky gasped. “Look, Cor! They’re here! The stars are here!” he cried, scrambling down from his perch, nearly tripping in his excitement.

Cora suppressed a smile as she pivoted to glimpse the night. “Yes, Ruky, they’re beautiful,” she admitted as a sailboat silhouette glided across the lake, its sails reflecting the celestial glow. In that moment, the tension that had built up dissipated, and she felt a warmth developing in her heart.

“Will you help me count them?” Ruky asked, his voice lilting with a childish eagerness, and for a moment, any remnants of annoyance evaporated.

“That sounds fun,” Cora replied, ruffling his hair and feeling like a sister again, not just a caretaker. “Just remember to be quiet. We wouldn’t want to wake Uncle.”

As they settled down on the steps of the cottage, the twinkling stars transformed their evening into a magical voyage. Perhaps there was wisdom to be found in both the kindness of understanding and the innocence of adventure, a balance they both needed to explore as they stood together, side by side, embraced by the peace of the night and the promise of their shared stories.

Nep was shut out of the cottage for his pains, and poor Ruky was undressed, with many a hasty jerk and pull. “You hurt, Cor!” he said, plaintively. “I’m going to take off my shoes my own self.” “No, you’re not,” cried Cora, almost shaking him; and when he cried she called him naughty, and said if he did not stop he should have no supper. This made him cry all the more, and Cora, feeling in her angry mood that he deserved severe punishment, threw away his supper and put him to bed. Then all that could be heard were Ruky’s low sobs and the snappish clicks of Cora’s needles, as she sat knitting, with her back to him. He could not sleep, for his eyelids were scalded with tears, and his plaintive “Cor! Cor!” had reached his sister’s ears in vain. She never once looked up from those gleaming knitting-needles, nor even gave him his good-night kiss.

It grew late. The uncle did not return. At last Cora, sulky and weary, locked the cottage door, blew out her candle, and lay down beside her brother. The poor little fellow tried to win a forgiving word, but she was too ill-natured to grant it. In vain he whispered, “Cor, Cor!” He even touched her hand over and over again with his lips, hoping she would turn toward him, and, with a loving kiss, murmur, as usual, “Good night, little bird.” Instead of this, she jerked her arm angrily away, saying: “Oh, stop your pecking and go to sleep! I wish you were a crow in earnest, and then I’d have some peace.”
After this, Ruky was silent. His heart drooped within him as he wondered what this “peace” was that his sister wished for so often, and why he must go away before it could come to her. Soon, Cora, who had rejoiced in the sudden calm, heard a strange fluttering. In an instant she saw by the starlight a dark object circle once or twice in the air above her, then dart suddenly through the open window. Astonished that Ruky had not shouted with delight at the strange visitor, or else clung to her neck in fear, she turned to see if he had fallen asleep. No wonder that she started up, horror-stricken,—Ruky was not there!
His empty place was still warm; perhaps he had slid softly from the bed. With trembling haste she lighted the candle, and peered into every corner. The boy was not to be found! Then those fearful words rang in her ears: “I wish you were a crow in earnest!” Cora rushed to the door, and, with straining gaze, looked out into the still night.
“Ruky! Ruky!” she screamed. There was a slight stir in the low-growing tree. “Ruky, darling, come back!” “Caw, caw!” answered a harsh voice from the tree. Something black seemed to spin out of it, and then, in great sweeping circles, sailed upward, until finally it settled upon one of the loftiest trees in the forest.

Heart racing, Cora’s mind raced back to the strange fluttering she had just witnessed, and the ominous cawing, which sent a chill down her spine. A sense of dread wrapped around her, tightening with each passing moment. She couldn't believe the possibility that Ruky had transformed into a crow just as she had whimsically wished. No, it couldn't be; yet the fear that crawled through her veins felt all too real.

“Ruky!” she called again, her voice trembling now with panic. “Come back, please!” She hesitated, debating whether to pursue that dark shape flitting through the trees. With every instinct screaming at her to run after him, she threw caution to the wind, dashing out into the cool night air.

The stars above twinkled down, indifferent to her plight, and the trees whispered amongst themselves, casting eerie shadows that danced along the ground. Cora strained to catch a glimpse of Ruky, or at least of any sign that he was still close.

She stumbled toward where the crow-like figure had settled, her heart aching with guilt and fear. “Ruky, it’s me! It’s Cor!” She could barely recognize her own voice, strained and desperate. “Please, come back to me!”

The tree, tall and ancient, loomed above her, and she felt a wave of sadness wash over her, realizing how often she had forgotten the light that Ruky brought into her life amidst her frustrations. The wind rustled through the leaves, and for a moment, she almost imagined she could hear Ruky’s laugh in that breeze, a sound she longed for like a lifeline.

From high up, the dark shape flapped its wings and turned its head toward her, those familiar, bright eyes staring down, yet unrecognizable in their current form. “Caw! Caw!” echoed the crow again, as if mocking her pleas.

“Stop!” she cried, feeling hot tears streaming down her cheeks. “Ruky, if you can hear me, just come back! I’m sorry I was mean!” Her voice was a choked whisper, filled with earnest sincerity. “I didn’t mean it; I just—” she faltered, releasing the sobs that had been trapped inside. “I just want you to come home.”

The crow paused, and for a brief moment, there was silence—a perfect stillness. Cora held her breath, hoping, praying that perhaps behind those beady eyes lay her little brother. It was worth the risk to lay bare her heart to the dark creature perched above.

“Remember how we counted the stars?” she continued, quieter now. “How we would dance and laugh? I miss my little bird. I miss you!”

There was a moment more of indecision, and then the figure fluttered uncertainly from its branch. Cora instinctively reached out, wanting to catch him in her arms if he would only return. But the crow circled around her, its flaps laden with uncertainty.

“Ruky, please!” she cried again, desperation threading through every word.

Suddenly, the fluttering stopped, and the crow descended with a grace that belied its earlier clumsiness. It hovered close, then drifted down to land softly on a lower branch. Cora stood frozen, the hope igniting within her once more. “Ruky?” she whispered, fear mingling with anticipation.

The crow cocked its head, considering her, and with that familiar sparkle in its eyes, it seemed to hesitate as if wrestling between the world of feathers and the world of childhood innocence. Cora slowly approached, heart thrumming wildly. “Please come back to me,” she spoke, heart laid bare, fingers trembling.

Just then, a gust of wind rustled through the branches, and in that instant, something shifted. The dark shape began to shimmer and twist, a gentle magic enveloping it, and with an almost ethereal glow, Ruky reappeared—a little boy with tousled black hair, bright eyes wide with wonder.

“Cor!” he exclaimed, joy lighting up his face as he darted into her arms. Cora gasped, pulling him tightly against her, relief flooding her soul. “I’m back! I’m back!” Ruky giggled, nuzzling her shoulder, blissfully oblivious to the terror just moments before.

“Oh, Ruky,” she whispered, tears spilling from her eyes, a mix of fear and joy washing over her. “I thought I lost you. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. I love you, little bird.”

“I love you too, Cor!” he chirped, his spirit undimmed. “Let’s count the stars together!”

As they stood embraced in the soft moonlight, the tension of the earlier moments melted away, and an understanding blossomed. Perhaps it was filled with lessons learned and forgiveness. Together, they turned their gaze upward, the stars twinkling like diamonds across the dark.

With the world returning to its rightful order, they began their cherished ritual, fingers tucked together as they counted each light that shone above—a reminder that even amidst shadows, love could transform and bring warmth back to their hearts.

“Caw, caw!” it screamed, fiercely. The girl shuddered, but, with outstretched arms, cried out: “Oh, Ruky, if it is you, come back to poor Cor!” “Caw, caw!” mocked hundreds of voices, as a shadow like a thunder-cloud rose in the air. It was an immense flock of crows. She could distinguish them plainly in the starlight, circling higher and higher, then lower and lower, until, with their harsh “Caw, caw!” they sailed far off into the night.
“Oh, Ruky, answer me!” she cried. Nep growled, the forest trees whispered softly together, and the lake, twinkling with stars, sang a lullaby as it lifted its weary little waves upon the shore: there was no other sound. It seemed that daylight never would come; but at last the trees turned slowly from black to green, and the lake put out its stars, one by one, and waited for the new day. Cora, who had been wandering restlessly in every direction, now went weeping into the cottage. “Poor boy!” she sobbed; “he had no supper.” Then she scattered breadcrumbs near the doorway, hoping that Ruky would come for them; but only a few timid little songsters hovered about, and, while Cora wept, picked up the food daintily, as though it burned their bills. When she reached forth her hand, though there were no crows among them, and called “Ruky! Ruky!” they scattered and flew away in an instant.
Next she went to the steep-roofed barn, and, bringing out an apronful of grain, scattered it all around his favorite tree. Before long, to her great joy, a flock of crows came by. They spied the grain, and soon were busily picking it up with their short, feathered bills. One even came near the mound where she sat. Unable to restrain herself longer, she fell upon her knees with an imploring cry: “Oh, Ruky! is this you?” Instantly the entire flock set up an angry “caw,” and, surrounding the crow, who was hopping closer and closer to Cora, hurried him off, until they all looked like mere specks against the summer sky. Every day, rain or shine, she scattered the grain, trembling with dread lest Nep should leap among the hungry crows, and perhaps kill her “little bird” first. But Nep knew better; he never stirred when the noisy crowd settled around the cottage, excepting once, when one of them pounced upon his back. Then he started up, wagging his tail, and barking with uproarious delight. The crow flew off in a flutter, and did not venture near him again.
Poor Cora felt sure that this could be no other than Ruky. Oh, if she only could have caught him then! Perhaps with kisses and prayers she might have won him back to Ruky’s shape; but now the chance was lost. There was no one to help her; for the nearest neighbor dwelt miles away, and her uncle had not yet returned. After a-while she remembered the little cup, and, filling it with grain, stood it upon a grassy mound. When the crows came, they fought and struggled for its contents with many an angry cry. One of them made no effort to seize the grain. He was content to peck at the berries painted upon its sides, as he hopped joyfully around it again and again. Nep lay very quiet. Only the tip of his tail twitched with an eager, wistful motion. But Cora sprang joyfully toward the bird. “It is Ruky!” she cried, striving to catch it
Alas! the cup lay shattered beneath her hand, as, with a taunting “caw, caw,” the crow joined its fellows and flew away. Next, gunners came. They were looking for other birds; but they hated the crows, Cora knew, and she trembled for Ruky. She heard the sharp crack of fowling-pieces in the forest, and shuddered whenever Nep, pricking up his ears, darted with an angry howl in the direction of the sound. She knew, too, that her uncle had set traps for the crows, and it seemed to her that the whole world was against the poor birds, plotting their destruction. Time flew by. The leaves seemed to flash into bright colors and fall off almost in a day. Frost and snow came. Still the uncle had not returned, or, if he had, she did not know it. Her brain was bewildered. She knew not whether she ate or slept. Only the terrible firing reached her ears, or that living black cloud came and went with its ceaseless “caw.” At last, during a terrible night of wind and storm, Cora felt that she must go forth and seek her poor bird.
“Perhaps he is freezing—dying!” she cried, springing frantically from the bed, and casting her long cloak over her night-dress. In a moment, she was trudging barefooted through the snow. It was so deep she could hardly walk, and the sleet was driving into her face; still she kept on, though her numbed feet seemed hardly to belong to her. All the way she was praying in her heart; promising never, never to be passionate again, if she only could find her bird—not Ruky the boy, but whatever he might be. She was willing to accept her punishment. Soon a faint cry reached her ear. With eager haste, she peered into every fold of the drifted snow. A black object caught her eye. It was a poor storm-beaten crow, lying there benumbed and stiff. For Ruky’s sake she folded it closely to her bosom, and plodded back to the cottage. The fire cast a rosy light on its glossy wing as she entered, but the poor thing did not stir. Softly stroking and warming it, she wrapped the frozen bird in soft flannel and blew into its open mouth. Soon, to her great relief, it revived, and even swallowed a few grains of wheat. Cold and weary, she cast herself upon the bed, still folding the bird to her heart. “It may be Ruky! It is all I ask,” she sobbed. “I dare not ask for more.”

As Cora lay in bed, feeling the warmth of the fire cast against the cold chill seeping into the cottage, she cradled the storm-beaten crow close to her heart. In her deepest sorrow, a fragile hope flickered within her, begging to believe that this creature was indeed her Ruky—though transformed. She recalled how he often showed such affection to the common creatures around them; it wouldn’t be too far-fetched to think that some part of him remained in the bird.

The flickering flames cast lingering shadows around the cottage, illuminating Cora’s tear-stained face and the fragile crow’s glossy black feathers. No matter how much the world around her shifted with the changing seasons, her heart was ensnared in the same moment, a time tapestry woven with guilt, love, and longing.

“Ruky, little bird,” she whispered, her voice breaking with emotion, “I wish you would come back to me. I’m so sorry for everything.” She closed her eyes, picturing the warmth of her brother’s smile, the cheekiness of his laughter, the way he would zip around with boundless energy. “I promise I’ll never be angry again. I’ll treasure you always!”

Gradually, as the night wore on, the warmth she imparted to the recovering bird seemed to seep through her fingers, and, at long last, the crow stirred. Its tiny, shivering body quivered against her chest. Cora held her breath, wide-eyed with expectation. The delicate flapping of wings brushed against her cheek, and she gasped, heart racing.

“Please, let it be you,” she prayed as the crow shook itself awake, blinking those familiar, bright eyes which seemed to hold depths of knowing that resonated deeply within her. They had shared a bond that transcended even the transformation wrought by the whimsical magic of the world around them.

In an enchanting moment, the bird looked straight into her eyes. There was recognition, a flicker of something that felt like familiarity. “Ruky?” she dared to ask, her voice almost a breathless whisper.

The small crow bobbed its head, a gentle “caw” escaping its beak, and in that moment, Cora felt a spark surge through her, a connection that cried out from heart to heart. “Oh, Ruky!” she exclaimed, lifting him to meet her gaze, as if trying to pull them back to the day when life had been simpler, marked by their incessant laughter and games beneath the stars.

“I thought I lost you forever,” she continued, her mouth trembling with emotion. “I have missed you so much. I thought that it was my fault, and I wished time and again to take it back.” The crow settled into her warm hands, seeming strangely comforted by her closeness.

That moment felt timeless, as if the weight of sorrow and spear of yearning had bent time to fit the two of them—girl and crow—into a sanctuary against the harshness of the world beyond.

As dawn began to break outside, the first glimmers of light cascading through the frost-laden window, Cora noticed something miraculous; the dark gloss of the crow’s feathers shimmered in hues of gold and bronze as the sunlight touched them. Holding him close, she felt hope and warmth merging with the rising sun, unfurling like a bloom in the spring.

With a gulp of determination tightening in her throat, she made a promise so fervent it resonated through every fiber of her being, “We will face it together, Ruky. I won’t let you go again. I’ll protect you, no matter what.”

At that tender moment, a soft but fierce fire ignited in Cora’s heart—the resolve to battle whatever lay ahead, whether it be a crow’s life or a boy’s spirit. Her journey toward redemption and reconnecting with the one she loved was beginning anew.

Suddenly, she felt a shift—the crow's form began to shimmer and flicker as if caught in an enchanting dawn light. She watched in awe, holding her breath as small feathers began to transform. With every flutter, it morphed into the familiar shape of Ruky, standing before her, slightly wet from the storm, but with those mischievous dark eyes blazing brightly in the golden morning light.

“Cor!” he exclaimed, bursting with glee as he threw himself into her arms, a laugh spilling over that filled the cottage with music. Cora laughed through her tears, the joy flooding her heart, wrapping them both in warmth and love.

“Ruky! You’re back!” she cheered, tightening her embrace, feeling the solid warmth of her brother. “I always knew you would come back to me!”

“I was never gone, Cor! Just... a little lost,” he replied, his eyes glimmering with mirth and mischief. “But I’m here now, and it’s time we went to see the lake!”

With laughter ringing out, the light of dawn stretching across the sky, they stepped out into the world, hand in hand, ready to embrace whatever awaited them, knowing that together, they could face any storm.

Suddenly she felt a peculiar stirring. The crow seemed to grow larger. Then, in the dim light, she felt its feathers pressing lightly against her cheek. Next, something soft and warm wound itself tenderly about her neck, and she heard a sweet voice saying: “Don’t cry, Cor,—I’ll be good.” She started up. It was, indeed, her own darling! The starlight shone into the room. Lighting her candle, she looked at the clock. It was just two hours since she had uttered those cruel words! Sobbing, she asked:
“Have I been asleep, Ruky, dear?” “I don’t know, Cor. Do people cry when they’re asleep?” “Sometimes, Ruky,” clasping him very close. “Then you have been asleep. But Cor, please don’t let Uncle whip Ruky.” “No, no, my little bird—I mean, my brother. Good night, darling!” “Good night.”

Cora held Ruky tightly, her heart swelling with relief and warmth. The warmth of his small body against her chest melted away the chill she'd felt just moments before, and the shadows of the night receded like a bad dream. She caressed his hair gently, still recovering from the fright of her earlier moments, and feeling grateful that he was back beside her, safe and sound.

“I’m so sorry, Ruky,” she whispered, guilt weighing heavily on her heart. “I should never have said those things to you. I just wanted you to listen, and I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was—” her voice choked, “I was scared of losing you.”

Ruky looked up at her, his dark eyes softening with understanding as he cupped her cheek with one tiny hand. “Cor, it’s okay. I know you get worried, and sometimes I’m naughty. But I’ll try to be good! I promise!” He smiled, the sparkle returning to his face, making her smile back despite the remnants of tears that still lingered in her eyes.

“Listen, how about we make a new promise?” Cora proposed, wiping away the last traces of sadness with the back of her hand. “From now on, we’ll be honest with each other, and even if we’re upset, we won’t say things we don’t mean. Okay?”

“Okay!” Ruky beamed, the warmth of their bond glowing between them. “You’re my bestest sister!”

The bond they shared in that tender moment felt impenetrable; in the stillness of the cottage, the world outside felt at peace.

Feeling restoratively calm, Cora took a deep breath, the delicious scent of the woods wafting through the open window. “And how about we catch some stars together tomorrow?” she suggested, her heart lifting with the prospect of a new day filled with possibilities.

“Yes! And we can tell stories to Nep! I bet he’d like to hear all about the brave crow that flew far and wide!” Ruky exclaimed, bouncing slightly on the bed in excitement.

With laughter spilling forth, Cora nodded. “And we’ll tell him about how the brave boy saved his sister from shadows and scares!”

“Caw-caw!” Ruky chirped playfully, and together they erupted into giggles, briefly forgetting the heartache of the night before. Cora brushed her fingers through his hair, delighting in his peppy laughter filling the small cottage.

But then, a thought crossed her mind, concern sparking her curiosity. “Ruky, do you remember anything about when you were… well, when you turned into a crow?” She searched his face for clues, eager to understand the magic that had swept through their lives.

"I just remember flying high and seeing everything! The trees and the lake looked so beautiful, and I could hear you calling for me! It felt funny, but I was happy up there," he recounted, his eyes wide with wonder. “But it made me want to come back, Cor. I missed you!”

Tears brimmed in Cora's eyes again, but this time, they were not born from sadness, but from love and profound relief. “I missed you too, Ruky. I was so scared. I never want to feel that way again.”

He nestled further into her embrace, and she could feel the beating of his small heart against hers. As the candle flickered nearby, illuminating the corners of the room, the sweet peace of the night enveloped them.

Outside, the moon cast a silver glow across the landscape, while soft breezes rustled the leaves. Cora felt the world shifting gently back into harmony, as if the night itself sighed in relief at their reunion.

“Let’s make sure we do everything together from now on,” Ruky murmured sleepily, “and I won’t go anywhere without telling you first.”

“I promise,” Cora replied, her voice steady, wrapping her arms tighter around him. “Together, always.”

With that promise hanging softly in the cozy air, they drifted off to sleep, comforted in the knowledge that they could face whatever the world brought them, side by side. And as they did, the stars above blinked brightly, witnessing the beautiful bond between a girl and her brother—a promise renewed, full of hope, light, and the shimmering magic of love.

Use the story to answer the question. In 3–5 sentences, describe changes you could make to the dream subplot that would increase tension, mystery, or surprise in the story. (4 points)

To enhance the tension and mystery in the dream subplot, the story could introduce ominous dream sequences for Cora that foreshadow Ruky's transformation into a crow. These dreams could include haunting imagery of crows circling menacingly or whispers of a warning that she must heed before it's too late. Additionally, when Ruky returns to the cottage, Cora could notice subtle changes in his behavior or speech, hinting at lingering effects from his time as a crow, creating an atmosphere of uncertainty about whether he is truly the same boy. Finally, incorporating a mysterious figure, perhaps a wise old woman or a foreboding presence in the woods who seems to know about Ruky's journey, could add layers of intrigue and compel Cora to seek answers to save her brother fully.

3 sentences please. And as simple as possible

To increase tension, I could add a dream where Cora sees dark crows swirling around her and hears a warning that Ruky is in danger. When Ruky returns, he could have strange habits or speak in odd phrases that make Cora question if he is truly her brother. Finally, I could introduce a mysterious figure in the woods who seems to know about Ruky’s transformation, creating uncertainty and intrigue about his fate.