“It’s not that. But a man shouldn’t have to die more than once.”

She shook her head very slowly. “That’s your problem, Ned. You keep mentioning the dying. As if that’s the most important part. Has it occurred to you that perhaps you’d do better to think more upon the time you spend among the living and less upon those brief moments in the company of the dead?”

“Certainly not,” taunted the raven. “Ned isn’t a very bright boy.”

Ned reached for the dagger on his belt. It was gone. Over the years, he’d stabbed the woman with a variety of blades in a variety of points, but so far, she’d never seemed to care. He hadn’t tried the raven yet. He didn’t imagine it would work.

Even if he killed the damned bird, she’d probably just resurrect it.

“All things die, Ned,” said the Red Woman. “Everything must molder in the ground sooner or later. You are no exception… probably. But while we live, whether by nature or magic, we’d do well to appreciate the experience.”

“I don’t know why you bother,” squawked the raven. “Clearly he’s an idiot.”

“Perhaps.” She stepped into the night. Despite her bright rubecundity, the blackness absorbed her. “See you around, Ned.”

She was gone. He couldn’t say whether she walked away or vanished into nothing. For a moment, he considered her advice, but before he could give it much thought, a faint odor of strawberries and cream reminded him how hungry he was. Returning from the dead always gave him an appetite.

Copper Citadel was a dim beacon in the gray night, and he headed for it. It was an irksome journey. He couldn’t see well and kept tripping over the uneven, rocky ground. He’d had a lightstone in his pouch when he died, but it was gone along with his knife and money. He’d been robbed. Dead men had no use for gold. But now he wasn’t dead, and he was broke and blind, stumbling through the dark. He half expected to fumble his way into a booby trap and perish again. He was even more annoyed by the time he reached the citadel, and his teeth were positively grinding.