The raven shifted on its rocky perch, then uttered a single raucous call.
"Calm yourself." The old woman who was squatting by the pool of dark water looked up at her familiar. "There is nothing to worry about. It is all as has been ordained." She held out a bony finger. The raven flapped its wings twice then dropped from the ceiling the cave, landing perfectly on its mistress's hand, where it began to preen itself.
"Good lad," the old woman murmured, stroking the bird's head. She kissed its sooty feathers before turning her attention back to the pool. The waters in it swirled, and the ancient currents told the old woman the future. She sighed. Her fate was set.
"Mother Moirae?"
"That I am," the old woman replied. "You took your time. You should not keep your elders waiting."
"I'm sorry." A fuligin-clad figure stepped into the light of the circle of oil lamps that surrounded the pool. "But - ."
"But you did not want to strike from the darkness, like a common assassin. You wanted this deed to be done with honour."
"Indeed, Mother Moirae."
The old woman laughed at the young man's discomfort. "Let me guess. Algrim took umbrage at my prophecy? He thought that by having me murdered it would hold back the march of time? Foolish man. Foolish, foolish man."
"He said -." The young man hesitated, then took a deep breath and stiffened. "He said that you were a blight upon his life, and that you should be removed."
"Hmmph. Well, my lad, I'm sure he said more than that." Mother Moirae glared at her would-be executioner. "And did you volunteer for this task?"
"No mother. We drew lots, and I lost."
Moirae raised her hand, and the raven flew away - out of the cave and into the night beyond, cawing as it went. "Then let me make this easy for you." The old woman arranged herself so she was sitting comfortably on the stony floor. Then she raised her eyes towards the heavens beyond and muttered an almost inaudible prayer. "Now," she said. "Now I am ready."
The young man drew his sword, its blade glowing like newly-churned butter in the light of the oil lamps. "Forgive me, Mother Moirae."
The old woman fixed his eyes with hers. "Strike hard and true, brave warrior. Strike hard and -."
