The Raven soared as she so loved to, high above the boughs of the dormant woods caught in the torpor of cold far below. The skies were quiet save for the wind and the Raven’s thoughts. She skirted the slopes of a mountainside upon the currents of a gentle updraft, languidly giving a flap or two of her wings from time to time.
She had eaten, and so now was merely content, though bored. Many beasts of the wood slept long into the frosts, and would not hear the Raven’s cry. The beasts of the river were far too stupid to laugh at the Raven’s jests. The others with wings were not any fun either, save for the occasional crow. But then the Raven heard a sound split the silence, even so high.
A squeal – no, no boar could make so loud a racket. A howl? Perhaps. The Raven began to descend, her curiosity piqued. Though it echoed strangely amid the grottos of the wild, the howling was so incessant as to be easy to track. The Raven briefly considered the wisdom of investigating – if she could hear something so foolish as to make such a cacophony, surely others more dangerous than her could as well. Then she saw it, a small form in the brush that was doubtless the source of the noise.
It was little more than a ball of cotton fluff with four legs. It threw its small head back and let out another puny, plaintive howl. A wolfling, alone. The Raven scanned the area, circling a few times as she tolerated the terrible peal as best she could, but found no others of the poor thing’s kind. Curious and somewhat saddened, she alighted upon a dry, dead branch above the small wolfling. She waited for it to finish its howl and begin catching its breath.
“Why do you cry, Pup?” She asked. The Pup jumped as though kicked and looked about, confused. “I’m here, Pup.”
When it finally looked up at the Raven, perched as she was well above the reach of his tiny muzzle – she could never be too careful, after all – he spoke apprehensively and quietly. “Who… who are you?”
“I’m a Raven.” Her feathers fluffed gently.
“What’s that?”
“It is what you see. Why do you cry, Pup?”
The Pup looked about again, gazing into the woods behind him. “I… I can’t find my mama.”
“How long has it been?”
The Pup sniffled. “I don’t know. But I’m hungry, and I haven’t seen her in so long.”
“If I brought you food, would you stop crying, Pup?”
“I dunno… maybe?”
“Then I won’t be long. Do not go far, Pup.” Without waiting for a response, the Raven gave flight again.
The Pup jolted from his sleep as a small shape was dropped in front of his nose. A rodent, dead, had fallen from above. He looked up to see the Raven, perched again and peering down. He regarded the small rodent and chuffed. “It’s barely a snack!”
“Will you eat it, or will you wait until it sprouts wings, Pup?”
“I…” He looked down again, his belly rumbling at the smell of the rodent.
“Your mother is still not here, Pup?”
“No…” He nuzzled the mouse, and began to nibble, pulling at it.
“Shall I look for her?”
“She’d never hear you. I can call her though.”
“You would bring mean and hungry beasts upon you. Perhaps I can call her.”
The Pup chuffed again. “Only mama and me can make voices so strong!”
The Raven paused a moment, and the Pup took this as a sign he had won the discussion. He descended upon the rodent with greater gusto now. The Raven sighed, pulled in a breath, and a terribly pealing noise erupted from her beak – a perfect mimicry of the Pup’s howl. The Pup looked upon the Raven, astonished. “How…”
“There are always wiser beasts in the wood. You should listen more. I will seek your mother. You should stay here, and stay safe, Pup.”
The Pup watched his prey from the low brush, stalking closer. The young deer drank from the river, his ears twitching this way and that, ever alert. Hungry and impatient, the Pup struck. hindered with hunger, the Pup was slower, the deer panicked, and gave a kick as it fled. The Pup fell, hurt and still hungry. He rose. And he began to cry.
“Why do you cry, Pup?” Between his ragged breaths he heard the familiar voice. He looked up, and though shadowed in the green boughs of the verdant wood, he could still see the dark bird. The Raven.
“You?”
“Raven.”
“Yes. Why are you here?”
The Raven regarded him as she had so long before. “You are loud.”
“And so you’ve come to mock me too?”
“I merely asked; why do you cry, Pup?” She regarded him more closely. “You are frail.”
“I am not!” He snapped, barring his fangs at her. “I’m a strong hunter!”
“Perhaps one day. Where is your pack?”
“I… I left.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to hunt alone. To prove that I could.”
“Why not return?”
“… They will mock me. As the other birds do. As you do.”
“I mock many things, Pup. Being hungry is not among them. What if I found food for you?”
“Wolves seek no help.”
“You lie.”
“Wolves need no help!”
“… Not every wolf is strong. Not every deer is fast.”
“Next you will say not all ravens fly.”
“Not every raven flies.”
“Mockery!”
The Raven sighed, her feathers ruffling upon her branch. “It is true that trying many times might make one strong. But failing enough times…” She rose a wing, as though to shrug. “You grow weak. I will make calls from above. Follow or do not, but be warned; you will not eat this day unless you follow.”
The Pup sat back upon his haunches, his muzzle pink from the carcass he had practically gorged himself on. He had not killed it – that was the cliff’s doing. The Raven had led him to it, and no other predator had yet descended upon it. As he cleaned himself somewhat, he thought. He looked up to the Raven, who had patiently waited through his meal.
“I am sorry,” He said. “For what I…”
“You were hungry.”
“That still doesn’t…”
“Each beast of the wood is, in fact, two. One that is fed, one that is not. The third is one who is dead, but we don’t count him.”
The Pup chuffed, a small spark of mirth in his eyes. “Why help me?”
“Why not?”
“It gets you nothing.”
“I, too, may feast now that you are fed.”
“So it was for yourself then?”
“Does it matter? You are fed, and with a valuable lesson of the wood as well.” The raven lifted her wings ready to take flight again, but the Pup called out.
“Wait!” He stepped forward, his tail low. “What if… Would you…”
The Raven chortled. “Now the mighty wolf wishes for help?”
“Alright, I was wrong! I just… You’ve helped me before so many times. Why should it stop?” The long silence between them made the Pup’s hackles stand. “Please!”
“I will call at first light. Call back, and I will find you.” And she was gone.
The Raven waited outside the den of the Pup. He was not there, and she had worried when he did not answer her morning calls. She perched amid the vibrant hues of the dying tree boughs, waiting. She knew she could not wait long, as her own hunger would force her to move on without the Pup in this routine they had come to know so well. The Raven had nearly forgotten how to forage for her own food without his help.
Heavy, plodding steps came through the dried leaves on the forest floor, accompanied by the gentle whimpers of the Pup as he returned to the den. His head was low, his paws and snout tinted pink. The Raven was almost afraid to approach.
“Why do you cry, Pup?”
“I found my ma…”
“Yes, Pup?”
“She… she stopped moving…”
“Oh, Pup…”
The Pup stepped into his den, a small and shallow cave with enough leaves and dirt as to be comfortable to lie down on. And lie down he did, heavily falling in a defeated slump. The Raven flittered to the floor beside his snout and nuzzled it with her beak.
“What of the hunt, Pup?”
“I don’t want to hunt, Raven…”
“And if I found food for you?”
“We always hunt together, Raven.”
“Not always, Pup.”
“… Can’t you find my mama? The way you did so long ago?”
The Raven closed her eyes sadly and leaned heavily upon the Pup. “No, Pup. Those days are gone. I am clever and can do many things, but not that. I am sorry, Pup…”
“The den is dark today, Raven. I don’t want to hunt. I don’t want to play. I only want…” The Pup went quiet, growling softly.
The Raven brought her beak to his ear, nuzzling him as she could. “Go on. It is okay to cry, Pup.”
The Pup trotted along the banks of the river amid the bare boughs of the dead wood, its branches bare in preparation for the coming frosts. Upon his haunches was perched the Raven, happily along for the ride. The Pup stopped to slake his thirst in the river, and a thought occurred to him. He couldn’t help letting a small whine from his muzzle. The Raven noticed, as she always did.
“Why do you cry, Pup?”
“I… I am troubled.”
“Whatever for, Pup? You’ve become mighty, and no beast trifles with you. You’ve grown clever, and even the birds have learned to mock you no more. Whatever could trouble you, Pup?”
“You do not fly anymore, Raven. Why is this?”
“I yet fly, Pup. I fly on quiet nights when the skies are gentle.”
“Why only then?”
“The winds… have grown to hurt me, Pup. I can no longer soar as I once pleased.”
“What has happened? Are you ill, Raven?”
“No, not ill. All beasts feel this, though I am fortunate to have felt it so long.”
“Fortunate? To feel such pain?”
“Indeed. When the beasts begin to feel this pain, they slow. When they slow, other beasts devour them. However, you are kind to me, Pup, and I am kept safe with you.”
“Surely it passes. All pain does.”
“Alas, Pup, I fear I have lied to you. The slowing never stops. Not until the beast does.”
“And when the beast stops… they…”
“Are gone, Pup, yes. Forever.”
“Not you too!” The Pup yiped. “Not like ma! I can’t hunt without you!”
“Nonsense, Pup. You have hunted well, even with me upon you. You have grown so very much from the crying thing you were when we met. You will continue to hunt well, long after I am gone.”
The Pup stood silent then. He began to walk again, but heavier now. His head was low and he was thoughtful. The Raven did not interrupt.
“Raven?”
“Yes, Pup?”
“Why do you call me Pup? I am grown, a pup no longer.”
“A strange thing indeed. I know many things, Pup, but this is not one of them.”
“… Will that be gone too?”
“… I imagine so, Pup, for no others call you this.”
“I will miss it…”
“Such things are far off yet, Pup. You need not sadden yourself over them now.”
The Pup sighed. “You’ve always been wise, Raven.”
The Raven chuckled. “Not always, Pup. Just as you were not always mighty.”
The Pup chuffed. “What if I found you some food? Would the jokes end then?”
The Raven nibbled at his ear. “Perhaps, for a moment.”
The Raven did not start when the rodent was dropped before her beak. She merely opened her eyes to see the Pup perched above her, watching her closely. He whined when he saw that she was awake.
“Why… do you cry… Pup?” She asked weakly.
“You do not eat, Raven. You must if you want to gain strength.”
“There is… no more strength… for me…”
“Not with that attitude!” The Pup nuzzled the rodent closer to the Raven’s beak. She did not nibble at it.
“Pup… you know it is time…”
“… Raven… Please don’t leave me.”
“I would never… leave you…” She lifted a wing to his muzzle. “… I’ll stay… whenever you… think of me…”
“What if I found you some food?”
“… Pup… It is cold…”
The Pup stared down at the Raven, who met his gaze. “I’m here, Raven.” There was fondness in her eyes, sadness in his. He leaned down, gave her wing a soft lick, and stood briefly. He curled his body around her as best he could and put himself between her and the opening to the den. He lay like as the Raven lay her head back down upon the dried leaves beneath her and closed her eyes. He lay like that and whimpered into the rodent, better eaten than wasted. He lay like that as the snow fell to the ground outside. Through it all, he called to the skies as the Raven did when she soared.
The Eye of the Pendragon 