The Crow-Child

by Mary Mapes Dodge

Midway between a certain blue lake and a deep forest there once stood a cottage, called by its owner “The Rookery.”

The forest shut out the sunlight and scowled upon the ground, breaking with shadows every ray that fell, until only a few little pieces lay scattered about. But the broad lake invited all the rays to come and rest upon her, so that sometimes she shone from shore to shore, and the sun winked and blinked above her, as though dazzled by his own reflection. The cottage, which was very small, had sunny windows and dark windows. Only from the roof could you see the mountains beyond, where the light crept up in the morning and down in the evening, turning all the brooks into living silver as it passed.

But something brighter than sunshine used often to look from the cottage into the forest, and something even more gloomy than shadows often glowered from its windows upon the sunny lake. One was the face of little Ruky Lynn; and the other was his sister’s when she felt angry or ill-tempered.

They were orphans, Cora and Ruky, living alone in the cottage with an old uncle. Cora—or “Cor,” as Ruky called her—was nearly sixteen years old, but her brother had seen the forest turn yellow only four times. She was, therefore, almost mother and sister in one. The little fellow was her companion night and day. Together they ate and slept, and—when Cora was not at work in the cottage—together they rambled in the wood, or floated in their little skiff upon the lake.

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Cora was known for her gentle spirit and unwavering kindness, always taking the time to teach Ruky about the world around them—the rich plants in the forest, the shimmering fish in the lake, and the songs of the birds. She encouraged his curious nature, nurturing his sense of wonder. Ruky, with his bright eyes and uncontainable energy, was a little sunbeam, always darting here and there, collecting treasures from nature—a shiny pebble, a particularly shaped stick, or feathers that had been shed by passing birds.

Despite their idyllic surroundings, the absence of their parents cast a shadow over their lives. They often reminisced about the stories their mother used to tell and how their father would take them fishing on the lake. Such memories would bring laughter, but they also carried a melancholy that sometimes seeped into their hearts, making the sunny days feel dimmer and the nights lonelier.

Each morning, as the sun broke over the mountains and the lake shimmered with light, Cora and Ruky would share breakfast, which mostly consisted of bread, honey, and fruits they foraged. Then they would dive into the day's adventures. Ruky would often take the lead, eagerly pulling Cora along to explore new paths in the forest. Sometimes they would climb trees, Ruky’s laughter ringing through the air as he perched on a sturdy branch, waving down at his sister, who would smile with pride and tease him about his daring nature.

However, as Ruky grew older, he began to grapple with the reality of their situation. He felt a growing responsibility to protect Cora and their home. He clutched tightly to the memories of their parents and vowed to make them proud, often dreaming of adventures beyond the forest and lake—of distant lands and heroic quests. Cora, sensing his restlessness, would listen patiently, letting him share his grand ideas of exploration, but also reminding him of the beauty that surrounded them, finding adventure in the simplicity of their lives.

One crisp autumn day, as the leaves danced with the wind and the air turned brisk with the promise of winter, Ruky approached Cora with a look of determination in his eyes. "Cor," he said, "I want to go beyond the forest. I want to see what lies beyond the mountains. What if we found a new home—a place where we could be happy again?"

Cora's heart melted at her brother's words. She understood his yearning for adventure, yet she also feared for his safety. "But Ruky," she replied softly, "we have each other, and we have our home here. The world beyond can be a scary place."

He glanced at the trees, their colorful leaves falling like confetti to the ground. "I know, but I feel like there’s more out there for us. What if there are people who can help us? What if we find new friends? I think we should explore."

"Exploring is wonderful," Cora agreed, "but we have to be careful. The world can be unpredictable. Let's promise to look out for each other."

As the sun dipped low in the sky, painting the horizon with hues of orange and pink, the two siblings felt a spark of hope. Together, they began to dream of what lay beyond—the laughter of new friends, the warmth of new connections, and perhaps the chance to create a new family, even in a world that had taken so much from them.

They promised to journey together, to support one another, and to face whatever awaited them hand-in-hand. And so, amidst the fading day and the whispers of the forest, they began to plan their adventure, their hearts swelling with excitement and trepidation at the thought of all that lay beyond their familiar surroundings.

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