She clung to her cross, moving only at night and sleeping very little during the day. This was the Deadwood Forest – named for erratic expanses of scraggly, leafless trees. She knew how to tap sap from the live ones, but it seemed that her luck pushed her into mostly dead zones. The only life that existed did so near water. So, Briar kept close to water, picking wild ramsons and blaeberries for sustenance. They were of little nourishment to her aching body.
The raven followed, unnoticed at first, always in her peripheral. It would not remain unannounced for long. It quickly began giving her gifts of food and guidance. On the third night, she saw it hovering. It ascended to eye level and dropped a fresh fish into her apron pocket. It still wriggled.
"Dear Lord..." Briar murmured in shock, sitting down on a log.
It then opened its beak above the pouch and dropped a mouthful of chanterelles. Weak with awe and hunger, she began shaking. That caused the fish – just lifted from the water – to thrash as well. As if sensing Briar's fragile heart startling, the raven sat next to her, stuck his face in the pocket and pecked at the fish until the life was out of it. Her stomach stirred. The raven nuzzled his head into her side like a playful kitten. She saw his eyes in the moonlight sensed the same, human-like quality of the alder bird. It became clear that they were one and the same.
"It's you," she remarked. "Thank you for your gifts. You may as well take the mushrooms, though, as I've nowhere to cook them."
Briar believed that she heard the bird audibly sigh. She knew that ravens were master mimickers – able to fool even the keenest woodsman into believing they were near a bubbling brook or a crashing tree – but even so, the timing of it was impeccable. Her raven hopped onto the forest floor, frantically gathering sticks and dried moss and placing them in a well-organized pile at her feet.
To top it all off, he fetched a large leaf to wrap around her food for cooking. When he was finished gathering, Briar was astonished. She could see by the way he puffed his chest that this service had been incredibly draining. They met eyes, the raven looking into hers with an air of frustration. It was as though he were asking, are you yet satisfied?
"Here," Briar sighed, cutting a segment from the fish with her paring knife. "Take it and be on your way. I don't know who trained you, but they created an excellent beggar." She offered him the raw sliver, but he refused it, pointing to the tinder. "You want it cooked?"
Briar was puzzled. She was sure it wanted something from her, not for her. Then again, it seemed to be acting on its own accord – dropping his items into her lap as tribute. Impossible, she muddled in her brain. What could she have done to earn such affection from it anyway?
Then, she reckoned she knew the answer. Peddlers. Yes, it had followed her, but a great many animals were used to humans. It wasn't uncommon behavior for a bird trained by city peddlers, performing mesmerizing acts in order to distract the targets of pickpockets. This spectacle, however amazing, was clearly a trick of training. She convinced herself that the reason for his presence was a tame bird's need for attention.
The explanation still didn't account for the timing or the circumstances. It also didn't account for the strange aura she felt around him. Not all things could be explained, Briar reminded herself. A thought crossed her mind of the wounded man in her barn; of the hay stained black. When she looked into this creature's eyes, it felt as though he was a natural extension of the ordeal. The animal took the fish and the mushrooms and wrapped them in the leaf himself, placing it on the kindling. The only thing he lacked was a match.
Then, he opened his beak. It spouted a golden flame, lighting up the pile of bark, moss, and twig on contact. Briar fell back, believing she'd seen the work of a ghost. Her world paled, and she felt her body dragged and set against something sturdy. The world flickering in the darkness, she swore that she saw the silhouette of a man hovering over her.
When she came to, he was gone. In his place was the raven, a charred bundle hanging neatly from his beak. He placed it on her lap. As she looked around, it became clear that she was laying in the hollow of a tree, several feet down an earthen slope with a small skylight for entry and exit. Even from the dark inside, she could tell it was a mighty beast of a tree.
Although several hours may have passed, the savory package was still steaming. Her senses were delighted with its heat and aroma – tickling her nose and her taste buds from afar as if the dish was peppered with pink chili and tangerine salt. Such things only existed in the Magisterial Realm, heard of but never experienced; yet they were a true and tangible presence to Briar. Her stomach groaned. She took a trembling hand and received the raven's gift. She placed a small morsel of flesh into the creature's beak, which he now accepted.
After they feasted, she saw sunlight casting its rays through the opening of the tree trunk. Drowsy from the two sleepless nights preceding her, she turned on her side and used a bed of moss for an earthen pillow. She would be safe here until nightfall, then she would move again. For now, she needed rest. As her eyes drooped, she whispered tenderly to her new companion.
"Now I understand. You're my raven."