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Part VIII: Yummy meat is eaten, ingrediant for pie are debated, and an uninvited guest comes to dinner.

Andrew’s time as a raven followed a perfect pattern. Eating, chatting, collecting shiny things, and ignoring the hollow feeling that things were not quite right. He and his friends would fly here to look at things. They would fly there to make plans. They would forget everything and caw madly as soon as someone found a coin or a button. It was the perfect pattern for a raven.

Everyday, thought, there was talk of going off to find his lady or some other raven’s lady. But, as is the way with ravens, something more interesting would present itself: a piece of string that needed consideration, a hawk to chase from the sky, or a morning surprise.

They came upon such a unexpected delight one morning just after leaving their night roost. A wolf pack had left behind a wondrous meal; the pack brought down a deer during the night and had left it half-eaten. So, Andrew and his friends found themselves with a feast. Now, of course, ravens will eat anything that is edible and some things that are not, but carrion is their favorite treat.

Andrew pinched a nice piece of deer meat with his beak and pulled, tearing as if he had been doing it his whole life. A quick hop away and he nibbled at the little red piece of deer flesh almost totally content.

“I love yummy meat!” one of the ravens cawed loudly. The other members screeched out in agreement.

The raven closest to Andrew shouted “If you are gonna eat meat, yummy meat is best.” He nibbled at his chunk and then exploded into a burst of feathers.

“Damn it, boy!! Catch them. Don’t kill them!” a gruff voice shouted.

Ever single wing stretched to the sky but to no avail. Andrew and his friends screamed as a fine mesh net fell over the top of them cutting the sky out of their reach.

Andrew was able to twist his head enough to see a large hairy troll of a man walking towards the flock. There was a smaller younger looking boy swinging a large wooden club around his head.

“I swung it fast, pa!”

“Get the edge of the net, ya gob!” the pa shouted. “Your fast club cost me a few silver.”

The younger one started gathering the edges of the net while Andrew and his friends cawed for help. “Sorry, pa. Maybe the pie man will buy the feathers.”

“I tell ya. Ya brains came from your mum’s side for sure. Ya don put feathers in a bird pie. Ya don put feathers in no kind of pie.”

Andrew panicked at the mention of a bird pie. His wings battered and tangled in the webbing of the net. He was gripped with pain and fear.

“Ya don know what a big king wants put in 'im pie, pa.”

“No one wants feathers in der pie! Now get that net tied to the horse.”



All his friends seemed to be in the same state as Andrew for nothing came from their beaks other than caws of dread as the bundles of netted birds were tied to the trapper’s horses. However, several hours later and a few miles closer to the aforementioned pie man tired the birds out to such a degree that even those sounds stopped.

When the sunlight began to flee the sky, the father and son stopped and made camp. Shouted insults flew through the evening as the son proceeded to screw up the sleeping rolls, the campfire, and dinner preparations. Andrew weakly tried to bite the net, but it was too tough for him to make any damage. He closed his beady eyes and decided to give up when someone touched his forehead.

“Think you might listen to me next time?” a familiar and calming voice whispered to him.

He opened his eyes and instantly noticed how shinny her eyes were. Andrew croaked out a caw. His lady had found him.

“I missed you too, mush. Now, let’s see how we get out of this one,” Sonja smiled at him.

Flying free, eating yummy meat, finding shiny things and taking care of oneself is fun but that smile showed him exactly what was lacking in his bird life. It showed him and this time he was really going to pay attention to the message.