" Roses surrounded the raven, thorns wrapping around its talons. Runes and archaic symbols stretched along my forearms: Romanian, Sumerian, Gaelic. An amalgamation of all those who had come before me. Marks of alchemy, of fire and water, of silver and wind. They had been carved into me by my father over a period of years, the raven being the last. All except for the one on my chest above my heart. That’d been mine. My choice. It wasn’t magic, but it’d been for me. "

― T.J. Klune , Ravensong (Green Creek, #2)