The Raven and the Way of Tea

"There’s no air…" Jack dropped to all fours on the ground. The heat was unbearable. We’d been walking for hours, with no sign of stopping, and the temperature seemed to have no intention of easing up either.

Though we were deep in the forest, beneath an unbroken ceiling of leaves, the sun pushed through, hot and insistent, as if it had chosen to shine exclusively for us.

Jack’s voice cracked in desperation, "I swear, I’m about to pass out from this."

"Let’s keep going," I said, sipping the last drop of water from my bottle. Turning back wasn’t an option - not now. Besides, I was determined to find it. We were getting closer.

We’ve heard from the gnomes that a white raven lives here, who teaches Zen and brews a kind of tea said to heal anything. It was said that it could cool even the hottest days. Something about nature and balance. It knew how to make things right.

Jack looked up, sweat dripping down his face. "Something's not right. We’re looking for a bird that brews tea in the middle of a forest that feels like a furnace. Do you think the gnomes might’ve noticed you had one of their exiles in your garden? Could this be... some kind of revenge?"

I didn’t answer immediately. Jack’s tone was half-joking, but there was conviction behind it. It was enough to make me second-guess everything. Maybe it was the heat. Or the silence. Or the fact that we hadn't seen a single animal since we headed out.

"That's..."

Jack cut in before I could finish. "I mean, think about it. You told me there’s a split in the gnome community, right? The wild and the exiled. And those exiled ones - weren’t they kicked out for getting too comfortable? Settling down in raised beds, taking coffee breaks, and preaching the joys of suburban life?"

"You’re talking about Shatov like he defected from an empire."

"He did!" Jack snapped. "You ever ask him why he left?"

I didn’t respond. Because the truth was - I hadn’t.

Shatov had shown up at the edge of my garden one morning, covered in moss and muttering something about “fragmentation is freedom.” I gave him a spot by the tomatoes. He’s been there ever since. My marigolds have never looked better.

But I never asked.

Jack, still on all fours in the dirt, kept going. I recognised that look. His mind was unraveling, chasing the shape of a theory.

I waited for the inevitable.

“So now,” he trailed off.

There it was.

“We’re walking into the middle of a gnome civil war because you let one of their exiles retire in your backyard like it was some kind of spa.”

Seriously? Just as I opened my mouth to respond, a sudden laugh - light, almost playful - broke the tension. It came from somewhere up ahead.

Jack froze.

"Did you hear that?" he whispered.

Before I could answer, the leaves parted, and a hyena stepped out.

Its coat was pale gold, its eyes too calm. It stood there watching us.

Jack staggered to his feet. "No. That’s her. That’s the one. The French one."

"...What?"

"The debutante hyena! From the story. The one that eats people and steals their faces. This is exactly how it starts!"

The hyena sat back on its haunches. “I assure you,” its voice as smooth as a breeze, “I only steal what’s been abandoned.”

I wasn’t sure who deserved a response, but I felt a sense of relief, maybe from the slight easing of the heat, or maybe just from the hyena’s presence. It was the first time anything in the forest had shifted, other than the swelter.

After a few brief pleasantries, the hyena asked what we were seeking, and we told it how the gnomes had spoken of a white raven, known as the master of tea.

“Why do you seek the raven’s tea?” the hyena tilted its head. “Not many come looking for such things. Are you sure you’re ready for what it might bring?”

I sat with the question for a moment. I glanced at Jack, but he wasn't listening, still convinced the hyena might eat him.

I exhaled slowly. “It’s not just about the tea. We seek to learn the way of tea, a path known only to those who have truly mastered it.”

The hyena stared at me for a long moment, its head still tilted.

“The way of tea is not something one simply learns,” it replied. “It reveals itself - if it wills.”

Jack shifted beside me, uneasy, while the hyena sniffed the air.

“You’ve come far.” Its voice lowered to a whisper. “Most turn back before this place. Fewer still step beyond it.”

It looked past us, into the trees. “I’ll take you the rest of the way. If the raven is willing, you’ll find it. If not… at least you won’t be alone when the forest begins to speak.”

We complied. I mean, what harm could there be? There was something about the way it spoke - an unexpected wisdom and calmness, especially for a hyena...

We trailed behind it, moving deeper into the forest.

The hyena took its time, moving with slow, steady steps. It stopped every time a branch cracked, a bug stirred in the leaves, or a bird passed quietly overhead.

I found myself falling into its pace, my breath slowing down. The heavy heat felt a little lighter. We’d been walking a good distance, yet I hadn’t broken a sweat.

At one point, it paused by a patch of wild herbs. It crouched low, running its snout gently over the leaves, and sniffing it deeply.

“It’s not just the tea,” the hyena said softly. “It’s knowing everything that goes into it - where it grows, how it’s picked, when it’s ready.”

I dropped to my knees beside it, letting the quiet settle around us. Jack hung back, quiet, eyes wide but watching.

The hyena looked up, amber eyes catching the soft light filtering through the trees. “Patience. Respect. Attention. That’s the first step. The way in.” Then it moved on.

We came to a stream. The hyena glanced at us, as if giving permission to drink. I declined, surprisingly, I wasn’t really thirsty. I looked over at Jack; he, too, declined but said he preferred tea this time.

The hyena moved toward the stream, pausing for a moment before drinking. “The water has travelled farther than we have,” it said quietly, then took a slow sip. “Tea has never rejected anyone. It has always stayed close to the human heart.”

It looked at us, calm and firm. “You have to accept things as they are -whether it’s water or tea - no matter what you want.”

Jack glanced at the stream, then back at the hyena, silent but thoughtful. He finally spoke, his tone serious.
“So... do you think the raven drinks water too?”

The hyena gave a small grunt that might’ve been a laugh. “Even the master of tea knows when to drink from the stream.”

I stepped closer, slow and steady, holding its calm gaze.
“I think I understand.” My voice softened as I lowered myself beside it, reaching out to touch a nearby leaf - gentle, unhurried.

“Like tea never turns anyone away... you drank from the stream without hesitation. No demands, no doubts.”

I paused, and something immediately clicked. The hyena seemed to catch it too, like it already knew. “It’s about accepting things as they come. A cup of tea, a stream, a fleeting moment... even who we are."

The hyena smiled, eyes flickering. It gave a small bow, then looked up at me. “What is not the usual tea is still tea. What is not the usual path is still the Way.”

Then its body shimmered - bright enough that we had to shield our eyes.

When we looked again, it was gone. In its place, the flap of wings.

The white raven landed on a branch just above us. “Forgive me,” its voice carried the semblance of the forest. “I have not offered you tea…and yet, it seems you've already had your fill.” Then it turned to Jack. “And one keeps spilling.”

With a quiet glance that felt like farewell, it flew off, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.

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^{(I can’t think of any music that captures the essence of Zen quite like Erik Satie’s Gymnopédies...)}