Alinor skidded to a stop and spat the black object at Evelyn’s feet where it hitched in an awkward circle in the snow. The wolf barked once and wagged her tail happily.
For you.
’Twas a crow, its blue-black feathers matted with saliva, its yellow beak gaping and closing, its topmost wing mangled.
Evelyn gasped and fell to her knees before the wounded bird. The poor creature was nearly dead, and Evelyn’s heart wrenched at the sight of its pitiful thrashing.
“Good girl, Alinor,” Evelyn said with fierce pride as she pulled her kirtle over her head, shivering at the extra bite of the wind. Alinor pranced back and forth smugly.
“Shh, lovely,” she called to the crow as she shook the overdress out to its full length. The poor thing would kill itself did it not be still. Its little mind was in a whirl of pain and fear so that Evelyn did not think it could even hear her.
She threw the gown over the bird and it immediately quieted. Moving gingerly, Evelyn scooped up the misshapen bundle and wrapped her kirtle around it loosely. She had no idea how she was going to help the bird, but she certainly was not going to leave it in the wood to suffer and die alone.
Evelyn rose and a wash of dizziness came upon her so suddenly it took her breath. She threw out the arm not clutching the bird for balance. A heated flush swept her so that Evelyn felt she stood under a blazing sun. In a moment, though, both the dizziness and heat had passed. She took a deep, steadying breath, tucked the bundle carefully under her arm, and turned back to the clearing.
She had yet to answer her body’s call and she felt the urge now more insistently. She neared the spot she’d made use of earlier in the day and bent to set the cloth-wrapped bird on the ground.
It had poked its head from the kirtle and now regarded her with a swiveling profile and one bright, shiny eye. It gave a hoarse caw.
“But a moment,” she promised the bird as she loosed it and stepped away to squat. She removed the length of linen she’d fashioned for her impending flow and was mildly surprised and a bit confused to find it clean. But she paid it no heed save for gratitude that she would not be pressed to wash it just yet and glanced at the bird while she relieved herself.
Alinor sat behind the crow, her faithful and unlikely companion, Bonnie, standing at her side. Evelyn chuckled as all the creatures seemed to be watching her with interest.
“Rude,” she tossed at them.
Alinor sniffed the air in Evelyn’s direction and Bonnie bleated.
The crow strangled then called again. “Bay-bee,” it croaked.
Evelyn nearly fell on her bare bottom in the snow.
Then she shook herself with a self-deprecating laugh. She was naught but a clutch of silly nerves!
“Are you naming yourself, lovely?” she asked as she replaced the linen between her legs and stood. “Do you wish to be called—”
“Bay-bee,” the crow squawked again.
The tree line to Evelyn’s left seemed to tilt toward her. She tried to shake off the dizziness but then the heat crept upon her again. She had barely leaned over before the vomit came up, and she went to her knees, heaving in the snow.
After the wave had passed, leaving her sweaty and shaken, Evelyn raised her head to find her charges still regarding her. Alinor looked comically sympathetic and Bonnie flicked her long ears happily.
“Nay,” Evelyn moaned, the sound like a sob.
“Baby,” the crow called gleefully.
Conall walked warily through the main avenue of his town, following the lively tune, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. ’Twas still early morning—a time when, normally, all should be quiet and still. Certainly there had been no cause for merrymaking in the MacKerrick town for…well, for years. But most assuredly, no one would have cause to play such an infectious melody this early in the day.
Even the cold air on which the honking music flew seemed to be changed, and although it wasn’t at all ominous, Conall was wary. So wary, in fact, that he jumped when the door to his own longhouse burst open, emitting a swell of music, raucous laughter, and his brother, Duncan, chuckling, cursing, and stumbling through the doorway into the street.
Duncan’s shining, flushed face brightened around his already present grin and he gave a dramatic start of surprise, throwing his arms wide and crouching.
“Conall!” he shouted. “You’re—oh, glory!” He broke off and turned back to the door, running into it in his haste and flopping like a moth before he managed to push it open. He ducked his head inside, causing his words to become only slightly muffled. “The MacKerrick has returned! The MacK—”
Duncan stopped again and turned mid-word to dance a bowlegged jig to where Conall stood, and Conall’s dread increased tenfold.
His twin was obviously ill. The state of things must have deteriorated to an abysmal low, forcing the townsfolk to eat tainted food, and it had driven them all mad. Conall was too late to save them, Eve Buchanan or nay.
But when Duncan pranced right up to Conall, it wasn’t madness in the merry green and bloodshot eyes he saw, it was joy and…
