Free Weatherwitch: Book Three of The Crowthistle Chronicles by Cecilia Dart-Thornton

should be abused and slaughtered do not own the moral right to act according to those convictions! History teaches that society at large once condonedwife-beating, human slavery, bigotry, witch-burning, the labor of children in mines, and many other practices that are now universally recognized as wrong. If we do not tell people how to act with kindness, if we do not speak up on behalf of reform, then how shall reform happen?”
    “Hmph! Let me inform you, some people are beginning to view you as didactic. Your preaching does nothing to endear you to others.”
    “I hope I have a grander purpose in this world than to win some popularity contest,” Asrathiel replied stiffly. “Of course it is important to me to be accepted and loved, but I am prepared to risk becoming controversial and falling into disfavor and being called a pedant in the cause of justice, though I gain nothing material by my stance.”
    Albiona fell silent, and Asrathiel feared that her aunt had taken insult after all. Though the two women were generally on good terms, a certain tension underlay their relationship. Yet, despite her desire to preserve family harmony, Asrathiel would never apologize for her outspokenness on this topic. If necessary she would give way on every other matter, but not this, the fierce desire to bring equity to all mortal creatures, a passion that seemed fused to the very essence of her existence.
    The damsel had been ardent for this cause from her very earliest child-hood days, when she had begun to observe the wild creatures of mountain, woodland and stream, and marveled at their attributes. Their navigational skills, their speed, their finely honed senses and their elaborate social interactions had astonished and fascinated her. Later, in the lowlands, she had seen birds trapped in cages, beating their wings against the bars in a frenzied effort to be free; and bears forever chained, and dogs beaten until their bones broke, and starving horses straining to pull heavy wagons, and live deer being ripped apart by eager hunters. These acts and worse were accepted as “normal” by people who seemed, in most other respects, quite decent. Her heart had hardened implacably against cruelty and she had toiled to rescue as many creatures as possible, while broadcasting enlightenment far and wide.
    The hedgerow rustled. A startled currawong arrowed across the lane to avoid the party that had disturbed it, and stationed itself in an overlooking spruce tree.
    “Ryence says ‘tis nigh impossible to live without using animals,” said Cavalon.
    “Once I breathed in a midge,” Corisande said. “I could not help it.”
    “And back there, by that mossy stile, I accidentally stepped on a beetle,” her brother said.
    “Well, it
is
impossible to live at all without causing
some
harm,” Asrathiel responded, “but that does not give us the right to do it deliberately.”
    “Ryence says it is animal abuse to name a horse ‘Dobbin,’ or a dog ‘Rover,’” Cavalon declared.
    “Cousin Ryence will have his little jests,” murmured Asrathiel.
    “Or a parrot ‘Polly,’” the little boy supplemented. “Or a cow ‘Buttercup’ . . .”
    Breaking her silence Albiona said abruptly from the driver’s seat, “Ho w can it be fitting to make such efforts to save animals when so many destitute
persons
need assistance?”
    Reluctantly but adamantly her niece replied, “At the risk of appearing disagreeable and being seen to moralize excessively, I put it to you that the world is full of troubles that merit our response, and barbarity towards nonhumans is but one amongst them. We ought to endeavor to relieve distress in all situations, if ‘tis possible.” She was growing tired of having to defend herself.
    Corisande lifted her piping voice. “But Ryence says—”
    “Look there!” cried Asrathiel. “The roof of the Mill is showing between the trees, gleaming in the twilight. Can you see it?”
    Albiona flicked the reins and with