The Raven and the Reindeer

by T. Kingfisher

“Oh, I daresay she had her reasons,” said her grandmother, who could think of a few men that would have been much improved by spending time as an enchanted seal.

She flushed a little, at the sheer stupidity of the thing she hadn’t actually said yet.

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

Of course there would be a person. Ask at the farmhouse did not mean that you addressed your questions to the front porch. She had not thought it through.

“All living things die. Then we eat their eyes.” “How nice,” said Gerta. “Are you going to eat my eyes?” “Well, obviously. You’d want a friend to do it, wouldn’t you?” Mousebones groomed a snowflake off her hair. “And it’s not like you’d be using them.”

I don’t think he’ll starve.” “I might,” said Mousebones, aggrieved. “It’s not like someone’s leaving eyeballs out in the snow for any hungry raven that might come by.”

“Plenty of four-legged people can talk. Not everybody listens well.

“Perhaps it’s like a centaur. Only the front is a human and the bottom is a dead reindeer.”

“Like a praying mantis made out of ice.” “Oh, very nice image.” “I came up with that years ago.” “You did not.”