Free Woman Chased by Crows by Marc Strange

hint of sadness in the tiny crease between her eyes. “I guess I’m trying to keep us all close.”
    She stopped brushing and turned to face him. “There’s no rush, you know.”
    He suddenly felt awkward. “You like that spot over there by the creek, right?”
    â€œIt’s a perfect spot, Dad.” The mare nudged her. “Okay, okay, get back to work, got it.” She resumed the long strokes. Foxy bobbed her head. “So
bossy
.”
    â€œI mean if you and . . .”
    â€œGary.”
    â€œI know his name,” he said. “I’m just confused. Around Christmas you were sort of hinting at a June . . . you know.”
    â€œWell, we sort of hinted our way into . . . later.”
    â€œYou okay, Pattycakes? You upset, or anything I could do?”
    â€œEverything’s fine. We just have a few things to work out, you know, one of them being where we’re going to be. In the long run.”
    â€œAnd I’ve made things difficult, pushing you to live next door.” He rubbed his face. “I’ll mind my own business. One of these days.”
    She came to the rail to lean close to her father, head to head, almost as tall as him, one hand on top of his. “Don’t go all dramatic, Daddy, I love the idea of living over there, and Gary doesn’t
hate
it, he’s just, you know, an independent guy, wants to make sure he has some part in things.”
    â€œWell, whatever you want, sweetie. You know.” He stepped back. Smiled and shook his head in wonder. “Sometimes, in a certain light, you look so much like your mom.”
    â€œDoes it make you happy, or sad?”
    â€œBoth. Mostly happy. And it’s only a flash, just in a certain light, or a certain angle, I don’t know. Most of the time you look just like you, which has to be one of the best looks on the planet as far as I’m concerned.”
    â€œI like your big face, too, Daddy.” The mare came up behind her and bumped her again. “No, that’s enough for you,” Patty said.

    The crows in Armoury Park were cawing as she walked by, telling the world all about her. The most unmusical birds in the world, she was sure. She hated it, that they were so unmusical. She’d been almost enjoying the morning, but now the rain was starting and the crows were complaining about it. Raspy shrieking, no doubt passing the word along that she was on her way, bringing rain with her. Gossips and liars. And thieves.
    In the animal kingdom, stealing is a way of life — food, mates, territory — the fast animal from the slow, bigger from smaller, aggressive from timid, clever from dull. Animals don’t consider it stealing, Anya knew that, not the way humans do. It’s about staying alive — sustenance, procreation, defence. Animals are aware of risk, but right and wrong don’t apply. Except for crows. Crows, she believed, were different. They were robbers at heart. They stole as humans did, because they wanted a thing. Why else would they steal shiny things, useless things? And, like humans, they
knew
they were stealing. Why else would they have warning systems? And lookouts.
    She saw the man standing by the fountain right away. He was staring at a newspaper, but he was not reading it. Big man, bony skull like a concrete block. He was wearing a hat and a long coat and gloves and his newspaper was getting wet, flapping against the wind, creasing the wrong way, but still he pretended to read. Why do you not mob him? He is the interloper. You can see that. He does not belong here, he has never been here before, go and yell at him.
    She wasn’t surprised to see the man. And likely he wasn’t alone. Are you here somewhere? Sergei? I see your boyfriend. Where are you? She could feel it. A presence. Had felt it for days. He was close. The red-haired man found her, and Nemesis followed him.

    Orwell waited, patiently, he