“Of course.” That smooth voice talks quietly in my ear, though fainter than before. “We are not like other plants, Weed. You already knew that. Otherwise you would not have come to us for help—now look around; do you know where we are?”

“Yes.” I have lain in this grass with Jessamine, I think. Whatever happens to me now, it is for her sake. The thought gives me strength.

I listen for the voices of the meadow grass, to see if they will offer me comfort. An anxious hum is all I hear. The plants fear for me, but fear more for themselves. What are they afraid of?

“Do you see what is happening there, in that open field?”

I look. A ewe has wandered away from the flock. She secludes herself near a small group of trees. Her belly is swollen, heavy with pregnancy. She paws the ground, lies down briefly, and then climbs to her feet again, restless with discomfort. Her bleat is low and urgent.

“That ewe is about to give birth,” I say. “Is that what you want me to watch?”

“Yes. But we are not the only ones here. Look up.”

I look. High in the branches of a hackberry tree, a raven perches. Its black eyes fix on the ewe, staring hungrily.

The anxious hum of the meadow grass rises into a cry of anguish. Already I fear what is going to happen.

“There is no prey for a raven here,” I say, hoping it is true.

“Not yet. But there will be.” The raven’s cold, merciless eye stays fixed on the laboring ewe. “The raven will devour the lamb as it is being born,” Moonseed says unemotionally. “The ewe will be unable to flee or defend herself, or her babe.”

I think of the journey Jessamine and I took to the castle at Alnwick, and the grief of the mother we saw mourning her child. Sickened, I reach to the ground for a stone to hurl at the bloodthirsty bird. Moonseed interrupts: “Remember: The first task is to do nothing.”

The ewe groans and sinks to the ground. She rolls onto her side. It is time.

Kraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! The raven beats its wings and screams in excitement.

“But she is helpless,” I protest. “Hear her cries; the lamb is coming—”

“The task is to watch, and do nothing.”

“But why?”

“If you seek the power to avert death, you must also be able to do nothing in the face of death. For no healer can be everywhere, and not every death can be—or should be—prevented. Look, it begins: The birth, and the raven awaits. Look, Weed, look….”