A Broad Hint in Black and White

 

    “Do you want to tell him,” asked Maeve.

    “You’d think he would know better himself,” observed Deirdre.
    “Maybe it’s the spring weather. Maybe he’s distracted,” said Maeve.

    Both the black and the white ravens were so far up into the giant Doug fir that they were invisible from the ground. Flecks of blue sky shone through the evergreen canopy, but no black or white feathers or wings.
    Conversational knockings echoed through the noonday forest. Gurgles and tuttings added to the soundscape.

    The object of their attention was lying stretched out full length on his favorite downed tree trunk. His eyes were closed, and he was smiling, humming a tuneless little tune.

    Maeve wiped her beak back and forth on her branch, as if she had nothing further to say. Sighing, she pulled a feather from her own tail. She dropped suddenly down through the depth of the forest, flattening out just above Ralph. She dropped the black feather onto his chest, zooming off again, to rise to continue the conversation. “There. Let him parse that!” Maeve can be enigmatic.

    “Observe,” rattled Deirdre with a croak. Then like a feathered ghost she descended the tree circling its trunk, appearing, and disappearing quite theatrically. She was used to being attended to, being the harbinger that she was. She landed on an alder sapling which was trying to prosper deep in the shade. She plucked a feather from her own alabaster tail. She laid it carefully over Maeve’s feather, crossing it. “Ha!” she said. She ascended back to Maeve.

    “It’s too ridiculous, somebody has to say something,” she sighed.

    “There is a choice to be made, for sure,” said Maeve.

    The truth of the matter is that Ralph had acquired a rather large pair of Levi 501s, and that he was wearing them. This was no random pair of pants. They had to be a size 52/48 if they were an inch. Totally custom, no doubt!

    It’s hard to tell the king when he is making a serious existential mistake. Who has the nerve? And who has led him down this path?

    “Let’s ask Ramona,” said Maeve.

    (Some flying is required.)

    “How did this happen?” asked a worried Maeve, just outside the cave. Deirdre watched but didn't speak. It must be admitted that Ramona did not seem happy.

    “You remember that lady reporter who gave him the cell phone? Well, she wants another interview and some photos with him for her paper, so she had them made for him,” said Ramona. “I think he is flattered by the attention.”

    “Photos! Oh no!” squawked Deirdre. “The king of Snohomish county in pants on the front page of the Milltown paper! Ramona, we have to stop him, if it’s not too late!”

    “He said he would meet the photographer and Millicent tomorrow. So maybe if you talk to him it would change his mind. I have not been saying too much to him about it,” Ramona said. “He arranged to meet them where he crosses the river to go into town.”

    Ralph woke and sat up. He was still smiling until the two feathers fluttered down around his feet. A message. Two bird’s worth of message. A warning, so to speak.

    Now, Ralph isn’t entirely dim. He’s pretty good with a non-verbal message. Somehow he knew the game was up. Therefore…

    When it was nearing morning, yet still dark enough for cover, Ralph made his arcane way down to the river crossing.

    He waded over to the town side, to the appointed meeting place and hung his custom-made Levis on a handy bush. It was an outward and physical sign of inward and spiritual decision.

    “Sorry, Millicent,” he said to the air in general. Then he went home. By then Ramona was making him and Twigg some oatmeal with berries for breakfast.  She said nothing at all.