Stasia was amenable to a hike today. Actually—and this has been something of a surprise from her recent, I-no-longer-want-to-trek, early pre-teen mood—she was happy to hit the trail and suggested we revisit our old stomping ground, Lantern Hill. Praise be. We laughed as we huffed our way up the steep, first part of the ascent, but we kept huffing, and she made constant jokes about rolling off the side. However, her new hiking boots did the job of keeping her on the footpath, even in the narrowest areas where there really is a sharp drop-off along the western edge, and that footwear played an important role when we heard a bizarre sound. It's hard to describe, but it seemed mechanic, almost robotic. I guessed, mostly by process of auditory elimination, that it came from a Raven—I'd already heard the spirit bird's croaking calls, and I knew that Ravens lived on Lantern Hill. Because Stasia felt secure on the rocks, we edged our way a little off-trail to a clearing where we could look down at the noisy bird, which was just emerging from hiding in the branches of a Pitch Pine. It made its weird call again, and then flew off.