Mercedes Lackey - Anthology Read Online Free Page A

long sigh.
                 They
had survived the worst of the winter. It was colder up here at the head of the
vale than it had been at the farm, but there was shelter from the worst of the
wind, and the coast took the brunt of the storms. The land here might not be as
rich as it was farther down the valley, but the fell provided good grazing. It
occurred to him suddenly that if they had been able to live in his crude
shelter, in a properly built dwelling one might do quite well.
                 A
whoosh of wings overhead broke his train of thought, and he saw the young raven
with the white spot circle and alight upon a stone.
                 "Have
you been hunting through the night, or are you just rising?" Bui asked.
                 Ravens,
despite their color, were birds of the daylight. Could they carry enough fat to
sleep through the long winter darkness, or like men, were they able to hunt the
night when need compelled?
                 In
another moment a second, smaller raven dropped down from the sky. The sleek
head turned and dipped as the bird half spread its wings, neck feathers
fluffing, and lifted its tail. The first raven watched for a moment, then
appeared to expand, rising to its full height, feathers bristling around its
head. This was the one, he remembered, that had always taken the lead in
calling the other young ones, and challenging the territorial pair for food.
                
                 Very
imposing, thought Bui in amusement. Does she appreciate it? He was almost
certain that the smaller bird was a female now.
                 For
a moment she watched the male, then repeated her bobs
and bows, murmuring love talk with coos and snaps. Bui was abruptly reminded of
the way the servant girls used to flick their aprons to tease the men in the
hall.
                 If
these birds were not yet a mated pair, they were certainly courting. Good luck
to you—Bui thought wistfully. Even if he were to win back the farm, a kinslayer
would be a poor marriage prospect for any man's daughter. There was a girl
called Asgerd, the daughter of Geiralf Bard-son who had a farm over at
Langdale, whom he had thought might make a good wife for him when they were
both grown. Suddenly her face came clearly to memory.
                 Since
the day he was driven from the farm all Bui's energy had been focused on
survival, but in this moment poised between light and darkness while the ravens
danced, something long suppressed stirred and shaped itself into a stave of
poetry—
                 Mournful
the man who must go mateless, Who lonely lies in the lee of the fell; Even
Odin's friend, the doom-fated raven, the bird of battle, a bride may win.
                 .
. .
                 When
the Outmonths had passed, the days began to lengthen swiftly, and the air rang
with the cries of returning birds. The green of new grass veiled the sere
slopes of the moorland, jeweled with daisy and dandelion and the more delicate
blossoms of pinks and saxifrage. The warming air thrummed with urgency, and as
the young ravens played upon the wind, Bui and the two Norwegians cut sticks of
willow and began to practice their swordplay.
                 As
they sat by their fire on an evening halfway through the Milking Moon, Hogni
lifted one foot, wiggling his toes so they stuck out of the holes in his shoe.
                 "We
need to kill a cow."
                 "What?"
The others looked at him.
                 "I
need new shoes, and so do you, not to mention rawhide and sinew to repair our
weapons. And I am growing very tired of eating bird-flesh and dried seal."
                 Torstein
laughed, but Bui grew thoughtful. Hogni had a good point, even though, with the
warming weather, the people of the farm would be more inclined to come looking
if one of their beasts disappeared.