CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIFTH
Four days passed and the first solid snows of winter covered the earth in an even blanket, covering hill, wood and rock, hanging heavy on boughs, nestling in the crooks of trees.
Kveldulf hunted through the winter landscape, returning to the cottage in the woods to take meals with Helg in the evenings, and sleep in her woodshed. Each morning, there was a limp and bloodied deer, or boar, wild goat or goose left for her on the front step. He slept late, as always, but by midmorning, he was gone, into the woods to hunt with his more human eyes. If Lilia ever wondered why he hunted so obsessively, or why he slept in a sawdust-strewn shed outside, she never asked.
Well, that was good, he thought. Let that one keep herself to herself. Let her keep out of trouble, at least for as long as she could.
When they did speak, it was always about the Veld, or whether he'd seen any sign of Alraun. Whenever Kveldulf might appear to have more than a moment to spare, she began goading him for rumours about Rosa too. He told her what he could, which was never much. Rosa seemed to be preparing for war behind her walls, and the forges were hammering day and night. Alraun was quiet. There were no faer folk anywhere in the woods, as far as Kveldulf could find out, and that made him suspicious. Probably, Alraun was also preparing and gathering his folk to him.
Troubling days were ahead.
After three days and nights of hunting in the snows he found the first sign of one of her kills. It was a deer, and had been dragged away--the snowy mud was streaked with blood, marking a trail into the deeper woods. When he followed the trail, though, he found at the end a shallow hollow with a smell of an unwashed human lingering in it. But of her, there was no other trace. She had been here, but moved on. The scent was fading already. He realised that she must be moving about, never sleeping very long in one place, hiding herself away in the trees. If she slept only a single night in each glen, hollow or shallow cave, then she would be difficult to find. Very difficult indeed.
Today was the fifth evening of his hunt. It was the darkest hour of the night, and Kveldulf was sniffing about the gore of a recent kill. Steam still rose from the torn entrails. He was so close behind her, but not close enough. It would not be so easy to follow her tonight. She had taken only a piece of the meat and ghosted away, leaving little in the way of evidence behind her in the snow. She must be aware that he was hunting her, and aware of her. She was now concealing herself more carefully.
"Hunting so often? I see you out all night, every night now-a-days."
He tried not to seem surprised as he looked up.
"You. I thought you had taken yourself away from the eyes of humankind for good."
"A raven has to eat. And your friend, that one, she provides a fine banquet. Every night." His eyes turned beady as they roved over the ground. "Now, there's a fine bit of kidney. Do you mind?"
Kveldulf padded a little distance away, and lounged lazily down in the snow. The cold chill of it was a balm to his out-stretched paws. "How long have you known? About her?"
Gnissa fluttered down, out of the black tangles of the canopy, spread his wings and landed, with a few hops, near the carcass.
"You do not want a bite to eat? Me? I prefer the wild swine she kills, but beggars can't be choosers, eh? And mutton is nice, just for the variety."
"Gnissa? How long?"
"Long enough. Not so long as you might suppose, but long enough. After Snoro... went away. I worked it out. The last time I spoke to you, I didn't know." He swallowed a chunk of sheep kidney, then ruffling his feathers he said, "I'm sorry about that. I was upset. Obviously."
"Obviously," said Kveldulf. "Don't worry about it."
"So you don't think I'm a messenger of old dead gods any longer?" Gnissa did eye him then, a little suspicious.
Kveldulf laughed and the snow and the ice rang with the chime of it. "No. I have regained my senses. A little."
"A little," agreed Gnissa. Tearing a chunk of flesh away, with a toss of the head, the raven caught it and then swallowed with a single gulp. Fixing one of his amber-gold eyes on Kveldulf, he puffed up his feathers a little more, and said, "You should try some. It's fat and fresh."
"I have no need of flesh when I dream."
"But, the other. She hunts. She devours when in the dream-shape sometimes. Is she more wolf than you? Older, I think. And more powerful."
"Does she? No. I doubt it. Flesh and shadow do not mingle. I think she just rends up the carcass, and carries off what she can. I have followed her and tracked her, but always, always she slips away from me and her scent turns cold." After a moment he asked, "You don't know where she is keeping her mortal body? She must be somewhere, hiding in the wilds."
"No. Sorry." He considered this for a moment and said, "I did notice she was carrying flesh away. I wondered if she had cubs to feed. Now there's a fine puppy I'd stay clear of. Oh, who is a cute little pup? Oh! You've bitten my wing off. Nasty cub. Nasty."
"Gnissa? Might I ask something of you. A favour."
Gnissa to struggled with a grisly strip of flesh, and then pecked and scattered some wool from the carcass before deigning to answer. "Now, that I do not like the sound of. Nobody ever asks nice things of Gnissa. Nobody ever says to Gnissa, here is a nice fat squirrel pie. Eat it for me. Go ahead. Please. No. It's always something unpleasant whenever anyone wants the slightest favour of Gnissa."
"Hm. Yes. I suppose you must miss Snoro?"
"What of it?"
"Well?"
"Ah, stupid wolf. Asking stupid questions." And he preened a wing before hunching his back. He looked for a moment like a large, shapeless mass of shadow with a glossy beak. "I suppose. I suppose. I did get used to having a warm cave, and food whenever I was a little peckish. He always had a soft spot for me. And it was nice to speak with him now and again. The crows and magpies in the Veld, a flock of fools, you know. Not worth two words. I'd half forgotten that while I was with Snoro. Haven't so much as seen another raven for ages and ages. We are, after all, rare birds, my dear wolf-of-shadows." He dwelled on silence for a while. "Snoro and I... we were friends. Yes. I miss him."
"If I could convince someone else, someone who owns a warm house, and plenty of ready food, to put up with you, do you think you might consider doing that little favour for me?"
"Maybe. Maybe." He was beginning to sound irritated. "All depends on if I live more than another day in this blasted winter cold. I should be migrating, I think. Do ravens migrate?"
There was a growl of wolfish humour in his voice. "Not that I've ever heard of."
"But tell me, what is this little favour? How little?"
"Oh, I'm sure it will be a trifle for one as cunning as you."
"Flattery, Kveldulf, flattery." And he gulped another hunk of flesh. "I'm not very prone to that. You're thinking of poor Snoro. He was the one who liked lickspittles."
"I want you to follow the other one to her den. I need to know where it is."
"And you cannot do this... hm... trifle." Gnissa's eyes looked amused.
"I have tried, and failed. She moves too swift, and never stays long in the same place. She knows too many tricks. She hides herself well."
"Older than you," purred Gnissa. "Wiser. More powerful. Just as I said."
"But, she would not suspect a raven following her for scraps. And what wolf can follow you up a tree? As I said, it would be only a small task, but would mean a great deal to me. I would be indebted."
"Perhaps." Gnissa stretched his wings and said, "If I am bored, or hungry enough to follow her "for scraps", as you so eloquently put it."
"Look for me at the cottage where you spied on me before. The cottage of Helg."
Gnissa did not bother to answer. He was already burying his heavy beak into the ewe's skin, deep into the flesh beneath.