Elementary by Mercedes Lackey

its wings and strode off, its cackling echoing from the stone walls, its blue-black body an odd contrast to the deep green grass.
    Tom adjusted his hat and sighed. To any other eyes, the Tower green seemed lush and healthy. But as an Elemental Master of Earth, he wasn’t fooled. The lush green, the flowers planted in the beds along the buildings all hid corruption and taint.
    Much like a battlefield, where the dead lay in green fields—
    A raven croaked right next to him, and for a moment Tom was back in the fields of the dead, with the birds feasting—
    He jerked back to this time and this place and drew another deep breath, almost grateful for the stench.
    The ravens strutted around the lawn, cawing to one another, seemingly ignoring him. He wasn’t fooled by that, either. They knew full well what time it was, and he knew they were taunting him, and—
    He snorted. They were birds, creatures of Air, with little brains or common sense. He was assigning them thoughts and feelings and conspiracies where there were none.
    He was as daft as his family back on the Isle of Wight claimed, shaking their heads over his notion to become a Yeoman Warder. They were right, of course, but it mattered not. He loved the Tower, with its history and stories that spanned centuries of time. The only thing that could lure him to the city was the history found here.
    That and the anguish the stones held. That pain had called to him, and he’d answered, but not without a cost.
    He’d had to cut himself off from his Element, shield himself against the very earth beneath his feet. So far, he’d managed, but it was a close thing. How much longer could he sustain his shields without access to healthy, growing land? Eventually, he’d need to find a way to deal with that problem, but for this moment, he had a different and more difficult task.
    He needed to pen the ravens for the night.
    It was a tradition, of course, but also a necessity. Foxes were known to get within the walls, coming up out of the river. Other predators, owls and the like, roamed the dark. With their clipped wings, the fool birds were vulnerable, but try to tell them that.
    His fellow Warders always enjoyed the entertainment, watching him try to get the ravens in their pens. This evening was no different, and it was long past the hour for his own supper before he’d even managed the first.
    The birds gathered around him, just out of reach. Tom let loose a blistering oath from his soldiering days, directed at the foul harbingers of death.
    A young chambermaid hurrying past with a bundle of laundry gasped and rushed off.
    Tom blushed, clearing his throat in his shame.
    Almost as one, the birds cawed and croaked and flapped their wings. Then the biggest one cackled, and the others started to leap into their cages. He slammed the wooden doors shut, securing them tight for the night. Their black eyes peered at him through the wooden slats.
    â€œAir,” he said, hot, tired, and disgusted.
    Their mocking cries followed him all the way across the Tower Green.
    He’d no watch this night, and felt thankful for that as he trudged back to his quarters. A change, a quick wash, some supper, and then bed, he decided. For he’d have to be up at the break of day to tend his charges, release them from their cages, and feed the evil things their meat.
    But upon opening his door, there on his small table sat a small package, covered in rough brown paper and tied with twine. Addressed to him in his ma’s handwriting, her pride clear in every letter of his name and title. Tom smiled as the stress of the day eased from his shoulders.
    Homesickness and joy both swelled in his heart. There’d be letters, and biscuits if he was lucky, wrapped in that bundle.
    He’d wash first. Have a bit of supper. And then he’d open his box and have a bit of home.
    Â â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢Â 
    There were biscuits. Chocolate ones, with walnuts, mostly