Read Online The Raven and the Reindeer by T. Kingfisher - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: T. Kingfisher
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breath melting over it. “Sorry.”
Mousebones made a sound that would have been a chirp in a smaller bird. “Rrrrk. I suppose I will not get to eat your eyes today, at least.”
Before Gerta could comment (and what would she say?), Mousebones hopped off her shoulder. Branches had leaned down inside the bush, sagging with the weight of the snow. There was a raven-sized gap at the bottom and Mousebones ducked through it, leaving rune-shaped tracks behind him.
“Aurk!” Gerta heard. “Aurk! Come out, the snow’s stopped.”
Gerta slithered out from under the bush.
The snow had indeed stopped. Gerta turned, looked in every direction, and saw whiteness. Sun dazzled the edges of her vision. She had to squint, but she was glad of it, because without the sun, she would have had no idea which direction she had come from, and which way she should be going. Her footsteps had filled in overnight.
She could see the road, which was higher than the surrounding moor. The scruffy bushes she had slept in were one of a dozen small shapes dotting the landscape, all of them smoothed over by drifted snow.
“Mousebones?” she said.
The raven was rolling on his back in the snow, kicking his feet. He looked thoroughly undignified and thoroughly unconcerned about it. “Aurk?”
“Do you know how far it is to the next town?”
Mousebones stood up and sloughed snow off his feathers. “Not that far. I could fly it, even with my wing, and not be sore in the morning.”
“All right,” said Gerta.
She had a brief breakfast, which she shared with her bird companion. The ham was gone. The cheese was going. She still had money, which did her no good at all out on the moors.
If I can get to the town, I can buy supplies at least.
It took until noon before she saw a blue blot on the horizon. Walking in the sun was warm, but the wind was cold. Gerta flipped her hood up every few minutes and pulled the cloak forward over her arms, but then she would overheat and flip it back again.
“Make up your mind,” grumbled Mousebones, who didn’t like moving whenever she rearranged her cloak.
“Sorry,” said Gerta. “It’s too hot inside and too cold outside.”
“Humans! Aurk! No pleasing you. Grow feathers, why don’t you?”
Gerta snorted. “And then what? I’d be a big feathery thing. I still couldn’t fly, could I?”
“No, but you’d be better looking.”
“I’ll pass, thanks.”
The blue blot grew, separated into smaller, squarer blots, and became a town. Gerta walked into it in the middle of the afternoon.
The houses were small, with thick walls and sharply sloped roofs to slide the snow off. A few clustered tight together in the center of town, but more straggled off in all directions. Garden plots were covered in a blanket of snow.
It was a much smaller town than Gerta’s home, but the little details—cut-outs on the shutters and the overhangs, elaborately carved benches—suggested prosperity.
Or at least very long winters. When you don’t have much else to do, you might as well carve things…
The town was bustling despite the recent snowfall.Fresh sled tracks marked the street.
She had gone perhaps a dozen yards into the village proper when she realized that people were staring at her.
One man stood with his mouth hanging open, swiveling his head as she passed. Small children pointed and whispered to each other.
Gerta blushed hotly at first, checking her clothing—was her shirt gaping open? Was she so obviously out of place?
Then she remembered that she had a raven perched on her pack, and the heat faded from her cheeks. Ah. Yes. That.
If people wanted to stare because of Mousebones, she couldn’t blame them. She wouldn’t tell the raven to leave, though. If it hadn’t been for him, Gerta would have stumbled past the bushes without seeing them.
Assuming I didn’t just lie down in the snow to die when I saw the Snow Queen… Gerta lowered her chin and
Mousebones made a sound that would have been a chirp in a smaller bird. “Rrrrk. I suppose I will not get to eat your eyes today, at least.”
Before Gerta could comment (and what would she say?), Mousebones hopped off her shoulder. Branches had leaned down inside the bush, sagging with the weight of the snow. There was a raven-sized gap at the bottom and Mousebones ducked through it, leaving rune-shaped tracks behind him.
“Aurk!” Gerta heard. “Aurk! Come out, the snow’s stopped.”
Gerta slithered out from under the bush.
The snow had indeed stopped. Gerta turned, looked in every direction, and saw whiteness. Sun dazzled the edges of her vision. She had to squint, but she was glad of it, because without the sun, she would have had no idea which direction she had come from, and which way she should be going. Her footsteps had filled in overnight.
She could see the road, which was higher than the surrounding moor. The scruffy bushes she had slept in were one of a dozen small shapes dotting the landscape, all of them smoothed over by drifted snow.
“Mousebones?” she said.
The raven was rolling on his back in the snow, kicking his feet. He looked thoroughly undignified and thoroughly unconcerned about it. “Aurk?”
“Do you know how far it is to the next town?”
Mousebones stood up and sloughed snow off his feathers. “Not that far. I could fly it, even with my wing, and not be sore in the morning.”
“All right,” said Gerta.
She had a brief breakfast, which she shared with her bird companion. The ham was gone. The cheese was going. She still had money, which did her no good at all out on the moors.
If I can get to the town, I can buy supplies at least.
It took until noon before she saw a blue blot on the horizon. Walking in the sun was warm, but the wind was cold. Gerta flipped her hood up every few minutes and pulled the cloak forward over her arms, but then she would overheat and flip it back again.
“Make up your mind,” grumbled Mousebones, who didn’t like moving whenever she rearranged her cloak.
“Sorry,” said Gerta. “It’s too hot inside and too cold outside.”
“Humans! Aurk! No pleasing you. Grow feathers, why don’t you?”
Gerta snorted. “And then what? I’d be a big feathery thing. I still couldn’t fly, could I?”
“No, but you’d be better looking.”
“I’ll pass, thanks.”
The blue blot grew, separated into smaller, squarer blots, and became a town. Gerta walked into it in the middle of the afternoon.
The houses were small, with thick walls and sharply sloped roofs to slide the snow off. A few clustered tight together in the center of town, but more straggled off in all directions. Garden plots were covered in a blanket of snow.
It was a much smaller town than Gerta’s home, but the little details—cut-outs on the shutters and the overhangs, elaborately carved benches—suggested prosperity.
Or at least very long winters. When you don’t have much else to do, you might as well carve things…
The town was bustling despite the recent snowfall.Fresh sled tracks marked the street.
She had gone perhaps a dozen yards into the village proper when she realized that people were staring at her.
One man stood with his mouth hanging open, swiveling his head as she passed. Small children pointed and whispered to each other.
Gerta blushed hotly at first, checking her clothing—was her shirt gaping open? Was she so obviously out of place?
Then she remembered that she had a raven perched on her pack, and the heat faded from her cheeks. Ah. Yes. That.
If people wanted to stare because of Mousebones, she couldn’t blame them. She wouldn’t tell the raven to leave, though. If it hadn’t been for him, Gerta would have stumbled past the bushes without seeing them.
Assuming I didn’t just lie down in the snow to die when I saw the Snow Queen… Gerta lowered her chin and
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