Senescent

[rowyn]

Crow-Woman stands at the side of highway 50, a rural road only two lanes wide that cuts through a swath of dense forest. She has stood here for so long that brambles have grown up to cover her legs, some old enough to have died still tangled around her human-like thighs. Her wings are atrophied from disuse, and her black feathers mottled with grey from past moltings never preened away. She is rooted by remorse, they say. She has been here for forty-two years.

Now she is thinking.

The sun sets on her, as it has more than fifteen thousand times before. The moon rises.

In the dense woods behind her, a child sobs.

Crow-Woman turns her head and cocks it like the bird she is not. Leaves rustle and branches creak and crack in the thick vegetation of the preserve. A young voice whimpers and coughs in accompaniment.

Crow-Woman raises her wings. Grey down cascades from them like falling snow. Like snow, still more yet clings to the black wings. She beats them, a feeble stroke that barely stirs the air around her. She lifts one leg instead. Senescent vines stretch and brambles tear at scaly skin. Dead wood creaks and cracks as she pulls one taloned foot free, and then the other. Trailing vines, she strides into the dense forest. She is twelve feet tall and the undergrowth is thick, but Crow Woman is patient. She pushes aside branches with weathered hands and pecks at them with her long sharp beak. Slowly she moves forward, finding a track and widening it. By the time she finds the child, he has stopped crying.

He is crouched against the side of an ash, outside a faerie ring of mushrooms, pale grey in the moonlight. No, not moonlight, for the moon is but a sliver; it's the reflected glow of the light-polluted night sky. The child stares at her, the tracks of tears streaked through the dirt on his blotchy face. Crow-Woman stares back.

In the distance, crickets serenade one another.

Crow-Woman speaks: "Hello."

The boy does not answer.

Crow-Woman asks: "Are you lost?"

The boy watches her in wide-eyed silence.

She considers him in return, her mind sifting through long-disused memories. "Did your parents tell you never to talk to strangers?" When he does not reply, she adds, "I am strange, but you do not need to talk to me. You can nod for yes and shake your head for no, and that is not speaking, is it?"

Slowly, the boy shakes his head a little.

"Well then. Are you lost?"

Another shake.

"You are next to a faerie ring. Are you waiting for the Little People?"

He nods.

"The Little People are not kind to unfamiliar mortals. They will not bring you toys or candy, or take you to a paradise where you will be happy forever. It is not safe for you to be here. Do you know that?"

The boy bites his lower lip, and nods. He wipes a dirty hand across his dirty face, smearing the tear streaks.

"Do your parents know you are here?"

A headshake.

Crow-Woman considers the child for another long moment. "Are you punishing them?"

The boy gives her a confused look, and forgets that he isn't supposed to talk to strangers. "Me? Punishing them? You mean my parents?"

"Yes. Do you plan to let the Little People take you to make your parents regret how they treated you, and that they did not stop you from running away?"

The child shakes his head, vehement. "No! It's not like that at all!"

"Then what is it like?"

The boy falls silent. Crow-Woman waits, patient. Overhead, the sickle moon rises a little higher in the sky. "Are you one of them?" the boy asks at last. "The Little People?"

Crow-Woman lifts her wings and starts to spread them. The trees are too close together; at ten feet they are not even halfway outstretched, and bumping into branches. "Do I look little?"

He shakes his head.

"What is it like?" she asks again.

Crow-Woman waits.

The boy stares at the faerie ring. "He'll never forgive me."

"For what?"

"I broke Dad's camera. I wasn't even supposed to touch it. And now it's broken."

"And he said he would not forgive you?"

The boy shakes his head. "He doesn't know yet. I ... I couldn't. I thought it'd be easier to let the Little People take me."

"To punish you?"

He lifts his head to look at her, his face screwed up. "Are you gonna punish me?"

Crow-Woman kneels. She holds out her hand to the boy. Hesitant, he takes it. "I am done with punishment now. Let us see if your father's camera can be mended."

---

senescent: ancient; of advanced years.

I started writing this months ago. It didn't want to be finished but I decided to finish it anyway. I don't remember where I got the word from any more

Comments

[tuftears.livejournal.com]

I like it. ^_^ But if she's at the side of a road, I'd wonder why car drivers hadn't noticed her before. Also 'rural highway' makes me think of roads across empty deserts, or open grasslands, basically a lot of dirt with nothing around for miles. Maybe if you introduce the dense woods earlier, in the first paragraph?

[terrycloth.livejournal.com]

It sounds like people did see her. "She's rooted by remorse, they say."

[rowyn]

*gives you a gold star* n.n

This is the same crow-woman that showed up in "Camber" back in April, actually.

[the-vulture.livejournal.com]

Hard to say about that rural road thing - it's all a matter of perspective. For me, rural roads involve gravel roads or a stretch of worn asphalt cutting through dense forests of spruce and pine.

[rowyn]

Other people have noticed her! She's a local landmark. :)

To me, "highway" means "interstate", a raised road at least four lanes wide with no traffic lights. So I use "rural highway" to indicate both a road in a low-pop area that probably doesn't get much traffic, and one that's cheaper and older than an interstate. It doesn't tell me anything about the surrounding terrain. :) So I added in a mention of the forest to the first paragraph. Thanks for the suggestion!

[tuftears.livejournal.com]

Works. ^_^

[level-head.livejournal.com]

I like it. Interesting that nothing like this has apparently happened for 42(!) years.

Senescence is a good word. It's from the Latin word senex.

The opening scene here reminded me more than a little of a gargoyle awakening. Good visuals.

Crow-woman has wings and hands. A hexapod; this makes all sorts of sense, but is rare among vertebrates. Our own lives would have been much different had evolution settled on a hexapod design rather than the measily four limbs we're stuck with. If a mammal wants wings, it has to give up its hands to do so.

This is the problem with other totem spirits, though obviously not with Crow-Woman. You can give them offerings, but without arms they have no way to totem.

It occurs to me that her "Do I look little" gesture could be rather impressively startling.

A very enjoyable piece!

===|==============/ Level Head

[the-vulture.livejournal.com]

Well, shapeshifters are not that uncommon in such lore. In fact, it's kind of assumed that when, say, Raven throws a spear, he's done it with a human arm, but, when he takes flight, that it has gone back to being a wing. Of course, this is the same being that turned into a hemlock needle to be swallowed and then transformed himself into a human foetus as part of his plot to steal the Sun from the great chief who was hoarding it.

[rowyn]

Now I'm sorry I didn't have her swap arms to wings at will instead. :)

[rowyn]

I'm glad you like it! One of the character traits for Crow-Woman must be "does not get bored". Ever.

Crow-Woman: "The first few weeks seem the longest. After the first year, you stop noticing that time is passing at all."

[sythyry.livejournal.com]

Cool!

[rowyn]

n.n

[the-vulture.livejournal.com]

This story have a very strong First People mythological feel to it, which is why the idea of a broken digital camera, and that Crow-Woman knew what such a thing was, presents such a strong contrast, as if the very European Faerie Rings and Little People weren't an interesting additions in and of themselves.

The story has a context to it that would be much in keeping with Neil Gaiman's 'American Gods.'

[rowyn]

Thanks! I find that I still love fantasy, but some of the common tropes of fantasy -- the "medieval kingdom with wizards" or "the secret magical society unknown to the modern world" or "modern human transplanted to fey kingdom/vice versa" -- don't catch my interest any more. So I'll do things like this, a modern setting with fantasy elements, but where there's nothing secretive about it. The modern world knows about the monsters and the monsters know about the modern world and they just ... cope with one another. >:)

[jordangreywolf.livejournal.com]

STORYYYYYYYYYYYY! Yay!

Thank you so much! This was a nice pick-me-up. =)