These are Malus's wychwood runes, the other one is meditatin

By candlelight in the night he studied his different things. But he never was one meant for sitting still studying. He much preferred to actually do the work himself, and see their results. But this was a simple matter quickly changed, from staring at the parchments and thinking about it. He could go out and simply try his hand at some of the things. And that’s what would very easily and very simply be done.

Dagger in hand, he would go out into the wych with a good spring in his step, and approaching a tree, would look at it. He would begin to strip the bark from the tree. It would serve only as an impediment in any subtle or different markings that could possibly be done for himself or for others. And thus it had to be done away with. Scratching and peeling the abrasive bark until it's more bare and smooth underbark was pervasive about it.

Dagger in hand he began. Carving, placing runes about the tree, and the patterns. Taking the trees and beginning to write and draw those swirling and dancing patterns about it. Trying to understand how they would work and interact with one another. Trying to test and to work with them. It was a slow and intensive process, but he would receive answers and interesting results from everything that was worked on.

Whether they were hardening or softening. Whether it charred the wood or froze it. Whether it began to heat madly or propel a cool breeze, every combination of the runes and of the craft was both interesting and fruitful. Important. And they were noted down. Everything that he could think of was noted down for further and later use. Part and Parcel. Each individual one and each different combination noted and held to himself, the curious beak of the bird going and winding around that tree like a kind of fool going and searching about like he was lost and looking for a small nudge or whole in which to perch. But he wasn’t lost. He was looking at and observing exactly that which he wanted to see.

And that tree, stripped of its bark and laid bare, was now adorned in markings of all kind, some on top of each other, pulsated and fed the mana of his curiosity. And they were there as a testament to his work. He took a sketch of the thing from various angles so as to review it at some other date. But he never really did care to review these things. He was much more attributed to working on different things head on rather than working on them. He was memorizing them. Committing them to his memory.

This crow wasn’t a bird brain.