Check out the update to The Eyes of God:

“I am not blind, nor my sight perverted. I am Carrion Oraculi, the prophecy’s flesh.”

Following the sound, I spy a dying tree, its twisting barren limbs reaching over the canyon’s wall into the bright blue sky. Grown by the riverside, its roots jut out into the empty space where once clean, life giving water flowed. Perched upon these coiling exposed feet of the tree, that crow gazes, impatiently scooting back and forth along the gnarly underground branches.

“The riverbed path twists and turns, but I see above,” it shouts in its harsh tones. “This is the way to the Mountain,” the bird proclaims, and flapping its wings, jumps from the entangling roots into the air.

Hearing a light clicking noise beneath me, I see coming up onto the top of the stone, an eyeless beetle racing toward the pool of my blood. Joining it, two, then three, then five more crawl over the ledge and surround the red puddle. More follow, and passing their imbibing brethren, swarm at a fresher source of drink. Backing up, my head twists and turns, hoping for some means of escape. Across the chasm, the bird’s perch still swings.

I jump, for one moment weightless, foundationless, flying through the air, and then grabbing a low hanging root, I swing, driving my feet into the canyon wall. Over my shoulder, I glance at the circling black mass of blind, hungry insects searching for whom they may devour.