It cawed angrily, and I sighed, eyeing its sharp beak. Hoping the beast’s benevolent mood remained intact in the light of day, I stepped through the gate. As soon as it slammed closed behind me, the crow flew off north toward the center of the estate. Nervously, I lingered by the gate, unwilling to risk increasing the beast’s ire by going any further.
After several long minutes the small, unidentifiable noises made by the wildlife in the surrounding area quieted. The typically blurred air grew murkier, making it hard to see more than a few feet beyond where I stood. A caw sounded nearby, the sharp ring of it dampened by the mist.
“You returned.” The beast’s disembodied growl floated to me.
Standing my ground, I slowly scanned the darkest areas in front of me.
“Not by choice. I think your crow would have eagerly pecked out my eyes had I not abided by its direction.”
Silence answered me. Had I misunderstood? Was the crow not his messenger? My stomach churned, and my gaze darted from one shadowy object to the next as I tried to discern which might be the beast. After a few moments of straining to see or hear any indication I wasn’t alone, I bravely spoke.
“I’m very willing to leave you to your peace if you would kindly convince the gate to open.”
“Before you leave, you may ask of me one thing you need that I can find within the walls of my estate,” he said with a low rumble.
My mouth popped open. Generosity from the beast was the last thing I’d expected.
“I...thank you for your offer,” I said slowly, “but I’ve taken so much from the estate already.”
“You scorn my offer?”
The roar of his rage momentarily deafened me and startled nearby birds from their roosts. Rubbing my ears, I hastily tried to assure him.
“Never scorn. To the east, a portion of your wall has crumbled and often the area beyond offers a small harvest of edible roots no matter what time of year. Many times it’s helped feed me. And just the other day, a spider threw its fine webbing at me, strong enough to use as thread. To my shame, I’ve never scorned the bounty of your estate. I’ve repeatedly taken without asking until finally it stopped offering. So you see, I can’t possibly accept more.”
An annoyed grunt sounded to my right, but when I turned in that direction, I saw nothing.
“Regardless, ask of me one thing you need. Only then will the gate open.”
I frowned at his stubborn insistence. Why did I need to ask for something? Perhaps it was a trick, and if I asked for the wrong thing I’d be trapped in the estate forever. He’d said something in the estate that I needed. Need must be the key. If Blye stood before him, she would say she needed something silly like thread or material, but I knew neither could be a need.
“I can think of nothing I need. We always have enough food to keep from starving and a roof to keep us warm and dry.”
“I don’t care about your family,” he said sharply. “Whatever you choose must be for you and you alone. You waste my time. This is no riddle to debate and stew. Just choose,” he bellowed, causing me to jump.
Thoughtfully quiet, I nibbled at my lip. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask for a man’s shirt. I even opened my mouth and made a small noise before snapping it shut as a surprising thought stopped me. I could hear his growing agitation in the increased volume of his growl.
“Refuge,” I whispered.
The growling stopped.
“What do you mean?”
“You want me to ask for one thing I need from within the estate. I’m asking for refuge when I need it.”
Behind me, the gate creaked open. I spun and raced for the breach, not waiting for his answer. The crow’s cackling caw followed me through the trees until I reached the point where the mists faded.
Near the road, I paused to bend and catch my breath. Four times I’d stood within the walls of the estate and escaped with my life; and now, with his offer, I’d ensured my safety if I should ever find myself within those walls again.
After a few moments, I wiped away the sweat that had accumulated on my brow and started my journey. The letter from my father rested within the bag that lay limp against my hip. I wished I had something with which to carry water, for I sorely needed a drink and my journey had just begun.
Recalling Father’s request to return before dark, I lengthened my stride and followed the road from the estate northwest.
The roar of rushing water announced the Deliichan River, which bordered the hilltop village of Water-On-The-Bridge. Eager to deliver the message, I strode forward around the last bend in the road and caught my first glimpse of the water-slicked bridge. In winter, the spray from the water that crashed upon the rocks below froze on the thick, wood planks to create a treacherous trek across.