In Ketchikan, a raven's feather is as important as an eagles. I'd imagine it's like this in other parts of the world, too. Here I learned of the significance. Apparently, ravens are lost souls. They are people who have died and not been able to find their way to the afterlife. To mess with a raven is to inherit some of the sorrow the raven is facing in their attempt to break free. The details are absent from me right now, but the story is nice. The ravens here are almost as big as the bald eagles, and only slightly more numerous. What an amazing place to be.