Raven Mocker Read Online Free

unused years to a dying person? Wouldn’t the Raven Mocker merely be utilizing something of no use to the previous owner? In a way, preventing waste, as the scavengers do after the butchering of a large animal. Buzzards, coyote, maybe others…
    She gave a great sigh. This was a very complicated puzzle.
    I t rained the next day, and the next. She did not even try to listen at the wall. She knew that would be futile. The girls would not come out and sit in the rain just to exchange outlandish suspicions. Snakewater had all but decided to regard the whole thing that way. It was ridiculous to worry about it.
    On the third day the skies began to clear. It was good to see the sun. The Going to Water was observed, made somewhat more difficult by the rise of the rushing stream. The ritual of thanks for a new day was modified to allow for the muddiness of the bank and the water. As usual there was little conversation between Snakewater and the other citizens. A formal nod of greeting, a remark on the coldness of the water, or the foggy morning.
    Snakewater finished her ceremonial cleansing, dressed, and made her way back toward the hut. She was thinking about what the day might bring. It would be too muddy, probably, to do much harvesting of herbs, but in another day or two there should be a good crop of mushrooms. Some varieties were useful, and rare at the season.
    “What’s that, Lumpy? Oh, yes …. A day or two ….”
    A woman nearby noted the old woman’s conversationwith herself and shook her head, half amused, half afraid. She altered her course slightly, to avoid a path that would be any closer. She gently herded her children along with her, moving them, too, away from the course of the old witch woman.
    Snakewater noticed, of course. This was not unusual. Such actions were expected. It had always been so, even when as a child she had gone to water with her old mentor, whose name she now bore. It was a part of her status and position and, in a way, a form of respect and honor. At least it had always seemed so to her. This morning, though… Was there something a little different about the woman’s attitude, the sidelong glance over her shoulder? A slightly different look, of fear and dread, in her eyes? Ah, maybe not.
    She reached the little house and began to think of some food to begin the day. Hmm … Not much in her larder …. A couple of rings of dried pumpkin, a pouch of corn, another of beans, a couple of onions.
    It had been some time since there had been much illness. There had been little need for curative medicines. Possibly the change to rainy weather would alter that. She hated to think along such lines. It was much more rewarding to think of love potions and romance. But no one would bring her
any
supplies unless they wanted something, some spell or charm or… Maybe she could take the blowgun and hunt just a little for herself. Squirrels should be active at this time of year, especially after their work had been hindered by the rain.
    She looked over at the weapon in the corner, unused for a long time now. Any darts? She rummaged for a little while and discovered a half dozen of the projectiles, sharp pointed and as long as a finger. Two would need new tufts of fluff, but that was easy. Milkweed pods were plump with their cottony fiber.
    Snakewater lifted the long tube and wiped dust off the mouthpiece end. An experimental puff proved the bore to be clear. At least, air could pass through. Lifting the blowgun, she peered through it at the sky outside. Itmight be that mud daubers or spiders had chosen this place to build their houses. But, no, it was clear and clean. A good sign…
    “Lumpy,” she said, “we are going hunting.”
    She tucked the usable darts in the thong around her waist, and started away from the town.
    N ever shoot a barking squirrel
was the hunter’s motto. The one doing the scolding is the lookout, and his barking keeps the others informed. If he stops, something is wrong, and all