The Corvid Regis
The old woman had been drawn out to the patch of corb wort in her garden. She’d hardly stooped down to pick it when the shadow of a bird passed over her, momentarily darkening the clear blue sky.
She grabbed a handful of the rough leaves and shoved them in a pocket of her loose tunic as she stood up, looking at the now empty sky. She mumbled to herself as she hobbled through the glade to the tumbled rock that served as a gate to her domain. She went slowly, her old knees locking up with each step. She stopped to check on various herbs and plants that grew in her warm dell.
At the opening between the rock walls she stood to one side and leaned over to surreptitiously peer through the gap. Heavy winter snow lay on the clearing outside. The slice of sky she could see was thick with storm clouds. It would likely snow that night.
Dotting the snow were the ink black bodies of crows. Dozens of them. More and more landing every minute. Not an everyday occurrence. She thought she knew why they were there.
She hobbled back to her cave, more quickly now, crushing the corb wort in her pocket, her hand becoming sticky with its gum.
Back inside her cave home, she set about her usual tasks. There was nothing she could do now but wait for her visitor. It was growing dark, so she stoked her fire and took her familiar seat near the cave’s mouth to do her work. She didn’t have to wait long.
At first it was one jackdaw that flew through her rocky gateway. It flew right at her where she was sitting, splitting reeds. It swooped by her and then landed on a slender birch close to the glade’s entrance. It cacawed four times and then it was silent. “That was the herald,” she thought, her fingers moving nimbly, tearing the reeds.
Two crows flew in next, made flourishing circles and landed on each side of the path that led from the gateway to where she sat. “Those will be the soldiers,” she was thinking.
Two more birds entered following the same pattern. This was repeated a dozen times until the path was lined on each side by crows. Finally, the last pair flew in, landed, and clacked. They were only a half dozen feet away from her chair.
[To read more download the PDF file below]
corvid_regis.pdf
The old woman had been drawn out to the patch of corb wort in her garden. She’d hardly stooped down to pick it when the shadow of a bird passed over her, momentarily darkening the clear blue sky.
She grabbed a handful of the rough leaves and shoved them in a pocket of her loose tunic as she stood up, looking at the now empty sky. She mumbled to herself as she hobbled through the glade to the tumbled rock that served as a gate to her domain. She went slowly, her old knees locking up with each step. She stopped to check on various herbs and plants that grew in her warm dell.
At the opening between the rock walls she stood to one side and leaned over to surreptitiously peer through the gap. Heavy winter snow lay on the clearing outside. The slice of sky she could see was thick with storm clouds. It would likely snow that night.
Dotting the snow were the ink black bodies of crows. Dozens of them. More and more landing every minute. Not an everyday occurrence. She thought she knew why they were there.
She hobbled back to her cave, more quickly now, crushing the corb wort in her pocket, her hand becoming sticky with its gum.
Back inside her cave home, she set about her usual tasks. There was nothing she could do now but wait for her visitor. It was growing dark, so she stoked her fire and took her familiar seat near the cave’s mouth to do her work. She didn’t have to wait long.
At first it was one jackdaw that flew through her rocky gateway. It flew right at her where she was sitting, splitting reeds. It swooped by her and then landed on a slender birch close to the glade’s entrance. It cacawed four times and then it was silent. “That was the herald,” she thought, her fingers moving nimbly, tearing the reeds.
Two crows flew in next, made flourishing circles and landed on each side of the path that led from the gateway to where she sat. “Those will be the soldiers,” she was thinking.
Two more birds entered following the same pattern. This was repeated a dozen times until the path was lined on each side by crows. Finally, the last pair flew in, landed, and clacked. They were only a half dozen feet away from her chair.
[To read more download the PDF file below]
corvid_regis.pdf