Nashoba jogged along the forest trail for two more miles but saw nothing of the raven. He had traveled six miles now and was tired. His paw was throbbing. When he drew near a clearing that he recognized, he stopped, unsure about continuing.
He sniffed the air but if there were animals—or humans—in or beyond the clearing, the back-blowing breeze did not bring him any clue. He remained motionless, watching and listening intensely, only to have the silence broken by a brash Caw!
The raven was close.
Nashoba waited. Once again the raven’s cry came: “Caw, Caw!”
Is it a warning or a welcome? Nashoba wondered. He moved to the edge of the clearing then halted to study the open space. It was almost ninety yards end to end. Opposite where he stood, the ground rose into a hill covered with leafless aspen trees. The center earth looked muddy from runoff from the hill. Here and there, stinkweed had begun to poke up, looking like green flames.
To the left was a small pond, walled in on the far side by a border of high grass, still brown. Two thin disks of ice floated on the still waters. The pond surface mirrored the trees on the hill so perfectly, it was hard to know what was real, what was a reflection. As Nashoba looked on, a pair of red-winged blackbirds called to each other from the tall grass.
Sensing nothing to fear, Nashoba stepped into the clearing.
Next to the pond stood an ancient aspen, its lower trunk encircled by crusty gray bark. One branch reached over the pond. As Nashoba looked, a raven flew onto it. A female, he was sure of it.
She was a big bird—some twenty-four inches in length. Completely black, her feathers glistened with an ebony sheen. The large, pointy, and slightly curved bill—its base partly covered with feathers—was just as black. Around her neck, feathers were shaggy. Each of her black legs had four sharp talons, which gripped the branch tightly. The tail was wedge shaped. Her eyes are black and beady—bright, Nashoba thought, with the knowledge of something.