[As the crow circles down, Sýnin follows in kind; while he heads for the tree, she alights on Eivor's outstretched arm and croaks in response to his call.]

Did you make a friend? [says Eivor, stroking the raven's chin with her forefinger. Looking to the crow, she calls,] I haven't got any mice for you, krákr. If you wait, I will fetch some gruel for you. It's tasteless, but it's food.