The Raven and the Reindeer

by T. Kingfisher

“Do you have a name?” “Ravens always have the best names.” “They’re so long and they take them so seriously.” Mousebones looked offended. “I have an excellent name and I don’t think I will tell you what it is if you’re going to act like that.” “Oh, don’t be like that.” “We’ll tell you our names.” “We will.” They sat up, one after another, with their tails wrapped over their feet like cats. “Glint.” “Glitter.” “Ur.” “Frost-eyes.” “Misting.” “Fish-eater.” The raven looked unimpressed. “Typical. And short.” “We have to take them off sometimes.” “Sometimes we trade them with each other.” “It’s easier when they’re shorter.” “Tell us yours.” “I am The Sound Of Mousebones Crunching Under The Hooves Of God,” said Mousebones. (Gerta translated this exchange in an undertone for Janna. “Good lord,” said the bandit girl. “They could talk the legs off a wooden goat.”) “Ooooh!” “That is an excellent name.” “I want a name like that.” “But taking off a name like that would take so long.” “I do not intend to take it off,” said Mousebones. “I may even add to it. I believe that after this mad adventure into the north, I shall be The Sound Of Frozen Mousebones Crunching Under The Hooves Of God. Assuming that I am not dead, which requires a different sort of name.”