"They are feeding-places," he admitted "And whither then do you go?
Aha! you find the way is long, eh? Strike a match and we'll smoke a
little more. When one smokes one grows a little warmer."
It really was cold, not only because of the wind, which impudently blew
right in upon us, but because of our wet clothes.
"Perhaps you'd like something to eat? I have bread, potatoes, and two
roasted ravens ... have some?"
"Ravens?" I inquired inquisitively.
"Never tasted them? They're not bad...."
He chucked me a large piece of bread.