Read Online A Girl Called Badger (Valley of the Sleeping Birds) by Stephen Colegrove - Free Book Online Page A

tried something different. He faced the sun, closed his eyes, and breathed out. He imagined the crackle of a huge fire and created four new verses:
     
    Breath made of flame
    Breath made of spark
    Breath made of steam
    Speed my heart
     
    His left arm prickled with ice-chills but the rest of his body burned furiously hot. A dull roar vibrated in his head and beads of sweat flashed from his skin. The sweat ran into his eyes and down his back. Blackie stared at him, her jaws open and tongue lolling. Wilson stopped concentrating and the dog trotted over.
    “That’s not very useful, is it girl?” He hugged her around the neck. “Unless bears hate the taste of man-sweat.”
    Wilson removed his coat and undershirt and laid them in the sun. He relaxed in the shade until some of his energy came back then used a flat stone to sharpen his hunting knife and the small throwing blade.
    He hadn’t practiced with the knives for a few days so he ambled across the meadow to a wide-barreled tree. On a flat area at chest height he scratched a crude target and stepped back ten paces. Overhand with the small knife––hit. Underhand––hit. Overhand––hit. After a few minutes, Wilson sheathed it and pulled out the longer hunting knife. Overhand––miss. Underhand––miss. He practiced until the blade hit the target every time.
    Blackie barked and sped away through the grass. She stopped halfway through the meadow and listened, ears up. Wilson watched the tree line across the sloping meadow and sniffed the breeze. He moved his crossbow and pack closer to the practice tree and returned to the target. This time he backed up twenty paces. Hunting blade overhand––miss. Hunting blade underhand––miss.
    A voice came from behind him. “Step into it!”
    Wilson spun around. “Kira!”
    Badger walked toward him, trying not to smile. Her black hair split into two long braids and bounced on the shoulders of her tanned leather jacket. Dried, caramel-colored mud covered her trousers from the waist down.
    Blackie wagged her tail and jumped at her, and Badger rubbed the dog’s neck.
    “Why did you call me that?”
    Wilson shifted his feet. “Um ....“
    “It’s funny,” said Badger, “Most people don’t remember that name. But you can use it.”
    “Whew!” Wilson laughed and pretended to plunge a knife into his chest. Badger giggled and made him feel a few feet taller.
    “Why did you walk all the way up here?”
    “To talk to you, silly boy.”
    “What?”
    “The last time I saw you, didn’t you have something to tell me?” She walked over to his hunting knife and snatched it from the ground. “Well?” She backed up twenty paces and threw overhand at the tree. The knife stuck in the center of the target.
    “Ah ….”
    “I’ve been six days off-map with a bum hand. I come back, walk up a mountain, and all you can say is ‘ah’?” She tugged at the knife and walked back to Wilson.
    “I’m glad you’re back,” he said.
    Badger threw the knife underhand into the target.
    “Safely, that is. Back safely,” said Wilson.
    “What do you care about my safety?”
    “Well, I care about the safety and health of all–”
    “Stop jerking my chain.”
    Badger shook her head and stared at him, a smile at the corners of her mouth.
    Wilson cleared his throat. “How’s ... uh ... how’s the hand? I don’t see a bandage.”
    “It’s okay, just sore.” She moved her fingers. “I lost the bandage in a god-forsaken swamp.”
    “Let me see.”
    Wilson held her hand and turned it with his fingers. Her skin was soft, apart from the calloused palm.
    “Scabbed over nicely,” he said. He sniffed the red line of the wound.
    “What are you doing?”
    “Smelling for infection.”
    “You’re a strange cat, Wilson.” Badger poked him in the chest and slid a hand behind his neck. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
    “This,” he said, and they kissed.
     
    WILSON LOST TRACK OF time until a drop of rain splashed his