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lower branch. “Yes, of course I know it. What do you wish to ask them?”
    â€œI seek news of my master Odysseus. He was last seen sailing toward the land of the Cyclopes. I thought these high-flyers might have seen him and know his fate.”
    The crow alights on a fallen tree next to me so that we are eye-to-eye.
    â€œI will ask them for you, Boar Slayer, but it may take some time to get the truth. These are the most disagreeable of birds, and they interrupt one another constantly. Go back to yourmaster’s home and return to your herding. I will seek you out tomorrow with the news, if there is any to tell.”
    â€œI thank you, Cousin in Black. It is true that while I am away, the herds wander afield, the sheep particularly.”
    The crow bobs its head. “They are-are-are quite stupid. I will come at dusk tomorrow,” he promises.
    Hearing these words, I turn around and begin the long run back to our home to the north. I arrive just as the sun falls below Mount Nerito and the shadows begin to creep over the fields. One ewe has wandered off, but I bring her back quickly to the fold. In my master’s house torches are lit, and the nightly revelry of the suitors has begun. Oh, the shame they bring to the house of Odysseus! Surely my master will return soon and drive those hateful men away. Even the Cyclopes could not be worse than these insolent men.

    At dusk the next day a shadow falls over my shoulder as I lead the sheep into their paddocks. How long this day has felt while I wait for news of my master! I cannot even be certain that the teals saw him, though they fly from the east, and giants and teals both need fresh water. If the land of the Cyclopes has lakes on it, then surely the teals landed there. Yet how flimsy my logic seems as the day passes slowly by.
    Seeing the shadow, I look up and watch the winged crow alight on the roof of the paddock. When the sheep are bedded down, I rush back outside. The crow is waiting.
    â€œWelcome to the home of Odysseus, Sir Crow,” I call up to him. “Do you bring news of my master?”
    â€œI do, Boar Slayer. If the teals can be trusted, I have your story, though it is a terrible one.”
    I feel as if a spear has passed through my heart.
    â€œMy master lives, does he not? Tell me that at once, crow!”
    The crow lands on a low branch.
    â€œSit back on your haunches, Ar-ar-argos,” says the crow. “I will tell you what I heard.”
    This is the teals’ story.

    My master and his men landed on a wooded island, as strange a land as any teal has seen. There the people of Cyclopes live not like other men, for they neither plow nor plant, and they live in the many caves that dot the island. They neither farm nor fish, because the immortal gods watch over them and give them their needs. There are many goats on the island and the wheat and barley and grapes grow with no hindrance, so the people of Cyclopes plan little and live apart from one another,needing no counsels, and each one is his own law, and thus they are lawless.
    A short flight beyond this island was another island, where the teals saw my master and his men find harbor. It was full of wild goats and there was bright water to drink; yet again no men had farmed its pastures or planted crops, neither did they cast nets, so the ponds were full of fish for the teals to eat.
    There brave Odysseus and his men from the twelve ships spent the day and the night, feasting on meat and drinking sweet wine. The next morning the Wily One took only the twelve men from his own ship and sailed round the island to learn of its natives, whether they were savage and violent or hospitable to strangers. The teals followed his ship, hoping to steal fish from their nets, but after my master had sailed a short distance, he spied a cave hidden with laurels, and there were great flocks of sheep and goats behind a high wall, built among large boulders strewn about. Herding the great