Ravenwood by Nathan Lowell

salves, and teas.” As he spoke he rummaged around in the game bag over his shoulder and pulled out a field dressed hare. He held it out to her. “If’n you were gonna snare one, then you probably know what to do with that, mum. It’s yours if you want it.”
    Tanyth was reticent about taking the food out of others’ mouths but he pressed it on her.
    “Please, mum. I’ve another pair for the family and some more fat grouse for the general larder. It’s my pleasure.”
    She accepted the rabbit with a nod of thanks. “I’m much obliged, Thomas. Thank you.”
    He beamed and knuckled his brow. “My job, mum. It’s why I’m here. I can bring you anythin’ the woods will provide. You just let me know what and when you want it.”
    The hare was heavy in her hands and she nodded her thanks once more. “A fat rabbit like this once a week would be quite adequate to my needs, Thomas. Thank you.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “You don’t know where I can find some oats for oatmeal do you?”
    He grinned. “There’s grains up at the barn, mum. Draw what you need. There’s usually plenty there. Oats, flour, millet, rice, dried beans.” He smiled encouragingly. “You’re one of us now, I figure. You help yourself to anything you find there, mum, and if you can’t find somethin’ you let me know.”
    His simple words warmed her in ways she hadn’t anticipated and the gift of the hare was unexpected. He knuckled his brow once more and nodded his farewell before continuing up into the village, leaving her standing there in the glow of the late afternoon sun.

 
    Chapter 8
Realities and Realizations
    Tanyth was no stranger to rabbit anatomy and soon had the carcass skinned and jointed. She offered a prayer to the All-Mother in thanks for the meat and fur, then tossed the meat into her cooking pot, added water and some salt, and hung it on the pot hook over the fire to stew. With winter coming, the skin already showed the color change with flecks of white winter fur among the mottled brown. She rolled it for later curing and set it aside.
    The day was drawing to a close before she heard the solid wheels of the ox cart crunching along the track outside. The sounds of the village were already becoming familiar to her and she began to feel more at home, more centered. She looked around the hut and tried to think clearly about what she’d need for the winter.
    For twenty years, she’d lived in somebody else’s home, or out of her backpack. She acquired and disposed of seasonal clothing as she went, trading heavy for light and light for heavy as she needed it. Small clothes and some bits and pieces stayed with her over the years. Other than clothes, her teapot, a single cook pot–now filled almost to the top with stewing rabbit–and her plate and cup, her pack contained only the herbs and seeds that constituted a stock in trade, a stash of tea and oatmeal, and little else. Everything in her life traveled on her back and that life was not geared for setting up housekeeping.
    She started making a list in her head for things she’d need to get through the winter. A larger cooking pot was first on her list. The small one was all she had and as long as it was filled with rabbit, she’d be unable to cook her breakfast of oatmeal. A frying pan, something she had little use for on the road because of the weight and the nature of her diet, would become almost invaluable in preparing meals on the hearth. Her mouth fairly watered at the thought of baking some beans, an activity that would require another article of specialized equipment.
    As she sat there, the spinning in her mind slowed. What she absolutely needed, she carried on her back. All her thoughts of pots and pans, of foods and storage–all those were extraneous to what she needed. They might be convenient, of course, and even welcome additions to her life, but not anything that she needed. Her panicky response startled her as it passed and she