The Raven and the Reindeer

by T. Kingfisher

Feeling bad about feeling bad was not significantly better than feeling bad in the first place.

Parts of her that were born lonely, as all humans are born lonely, were suddenly gathered up and loved and made one with the herd.

She closed her teeth with a click but her thoughts ran on, unimpeded: And also I don’t actually think I want to marry him any more and I think I may be in love with a bandit girl who’s killed at least one person that I know of, and why did none of you tell me that I could fall in love with a girl, anyway?

She knew that it was stupid to trust a bandit and an admitted murderer. She knew that they had met under dreadful circumstances and those circumstances had gotten steadily worse. But she also knew that she trusted Janna. Something had happened in those days and nights on the reindeer road, something to do with sharp knives, with hide and herd and things that humans did not have words for. She would trust Janna to the ends of the earth. And that was good, because that was where they were standing.

“Words are like fish and you catch them and you get to keep them forever.”

“This is why you don’t mate with your nestmates,” said Mousebones pragmatically. “It’s always ‘Oh, yes, and remember the time you ate that cricket that I was supposed to get?’ for the rest of your life.” He paused, and then added, “Well, that and the inbreeding.”

There is nothing in the world so patient as a plant awaiting spring.