She Does Not Like Interruptions

The owls were the last to arrive to the oak. Selfish ebony ravens refused to scoot over. Are all ravens the same then? I asked the storyteller. She is my niece, and I discovered does not like interruptions. She nodded her head. All of them, she said firmly. Exactly alike. So none of them have minds of their own? She glared at me. Turned her back and continued to tell her tale. Witches flew in from the north. All of them? I asked. Every single one came from the same direction? She stomped off. I could hear her offer to tell a story to her daddy. They will get along famously. They both like to generalize all ghosts, all owls, all witches.