The Red Woman smiled and walked away.

He called after her. “Why don’t you just let me die?” She turned her wrinkled face in his direction. Her red cheeks glowed in the faded twilight. “Because, Ned, I’ve had a vision. One day, some far-off tomorrow, the fate of this world and every creature that walks its lands, swims its waters, and soars through its skies will depend upon you and the decision you will make.”

He hadn’t expected the answer. She’d never given him one before. He felt a little better hearing it, to know there was a reason for his suffering. He puffed out his chest with a proud smile.

“I’m just screwing with you, Ned.”

Ned’s chest and ego deflated, and he slumped.

“Some people knit. Others play cards. I raise the dead,” she replied. “A girl’s got to have a hobby. Otherwise I’d sit around my cave all day talking to zombies. Have you ever tried having a conversation with a zombie? They’re very dull. And it doesn’t matter how many times you tell them you don’t mind the smell, they just keep apologizing. Over and over again. They’re so bloody self-conscious.”

“Sorry.” He wasn’t sure why he apologized. “But I was hoping you could just stop.”

“Give them the silent treatment, you mean?” She scratched her nose with a long fuchsia fingernail. “Hardly seems fair to discriminate against them just because they’re dead.”

“No. I meant I was hoping you could stop bringing me back to life.”

“That’s a fine thank-you,” she said to her raven. “Most men would consider themselves fortunate to have cheated death as many times as this one.”

“It’s just…” He struggled to find the right words. “Look. It’s not natural for a man to keep dying.”

She leaned on her staff. “What are you saying? You’d rather be dead? Is the grave so appealing?”