Thieves World 7 – The Dead of Winter by Asprin, Robert

a hopeless prayer. Oh, whatever there is that listens, please, please, make it

didn’t happen!….

… and suddenly there was someone there beside her, and old reflex took over.

Tyr struggled to her feet, ready to run. But her nose countermanded her legs,

and Tyr froze-then leaped up, whining madly, bouncing in a frenzy of relief,

licking at the skinny figure that was crouched down next to her. The skinny one

tasted better than usual. There was something else with her-a black bird of the

kind Tyr usually liked to chase-but somehow the bird also smelled like the

skinny one, so she let it be. She crowded into the skinny shape’s arms,

whimpering incredulous welcome, terror, reawakened hunger, sorrow and loss, the

news of the world turned upside down …

“I know, I know,” Mriga said, and though the words meant nothing to Tyr, the dog

was comforted. Mriga knew exactly how she felt, without omniscience being

involved. Her own retarded mind, before the onslaught of divinity, had been the

same nounless void, full of inexplicable presences and influences. Now the dog

nosed at her, both vastly relieved and freshly wounded by the reminder of what

was wrong with the world. She whimpered, and her stomach growled.

“Oh, poor child,” Mriga said, and reached sideways into timelessness for the rib

bones she’d been working on. Tyr leaped at the half-rack of ribs almost before

they were entirely into time, and fell to gnawing on them.

“She thinks she’s in hell,” Mriga said to Siveni.

The raven laughed, one harsh bitter caw. “Would that she were, for he’s