could count on as a partner. Rapskal was flighty and weird, exotic and compelling and sometimes dangerously strange. âLike the difference between bread and mushrooms,â she said.
âWhat?â The tree branches creaked as he shifted his weight. A distant scream sounded.
âQuiet! Listen!â
The sound came again. Not a scream. At least, not a human scream, and not a sound of distress. A sound of excitement. A call. The hairs prickled up on the back of her neck and arms. The sound came again, longer, rising and falling, a wailing noise. As it started to die away, another voice took it up, and then another. She gripped her bow tightly and set her back firmly to the tree. The sounds were coming closer. And there was another noise, a heavy thudding of hooves.
Tats moved through the tree, clambering around until he was above her and staring in the same direction. She could almost feel the hoof-beats; a very large animal was running in their direction. No. Two. Three? She hunched down to grip the tree and peer along the game trail.
They were not elk, but were perhaps kin to them. Antlerless, with large hummocks of flesh on their front shoulders, and taller at the shoulder than Carson. They were running flat out, throwing up chunks of forest floor as they came. They were too large for this game trail; they were running down it because theyâd been driven. Low branches slapped against them and broke as they fled on. The nostrils of the creature in front were flared wide and blood-red. Flecks of foam flew from his mouth as he came on. The animals behind him were as frantic. They breathed out shrill terror as they ran and the stench of their fear hung in the forest after theyâd thundered past. Neither she nor Tats had even nocked an arrow, Thymara realized in disgust.
âWhat were they â¦?â Tats began, and then a long wailing cry rose and fell again. Another answered, and it was not distant now, but coming closer.
Thymara knew what wolves were. They did not live in the Rain Wilds, but even so, in the old tales that people still told, wolves were the ravening predators that made people shiver in the night. Her imagination, she now saw, had been insufficient for the task. They were huge creatures, red-tongued and white-toothed, shaggy and joyous in their blood-thirst. They poured along the game trail, five, six, eight of them, running flat out, and yet somehow still managing to give tongue to their hunt. It was not a howl, but a yipping, wailing call that said all that meat would soon be theirs.
As the intervening trees and branches blocked them from sight and their hunting calls began to fade, Tats climbed down past her, and then jumped with a thud to the ground. She sighed and shook her head. He was right. After that cacophony, no game animal would remain anywhere in their vicinity. She followed him down and called out in annoyance, âYouâre going the wrong way!â
âNo, Iâm not. Iâve got to see this.â Tats had been walking. Now he broke into a jog, following the same trail the elk and the wolves had taken.
âDonât be stupid! Theyâd be just as happy to tear you to pieces as those elk, or whatever they were!â
He didnât hear her or he didnât care. She stood a moment, wondering if her fear or her anger were stronger. Then she started after him. âTATS!â She didnât care how loud she yelled. There was no game left in this area anyway. âCarson told us to hunt in twos! Those wolves are exactly what he warned us about!â
He was out of sight and she stood still for one indecisive moment. She could go back and tell Carson and the others what had happened. If Tats came back, it would seem childish tale-carrying. If he didnât, she would have let him go to his death alone. Teeth clenched, she put her bow on her back and took an arrow into her hand as if it were a stabbing spear. She hiked her tunic up and tucked
âWhat?â The tree branches creaked as he shifted his weight. A distant scream sounded.
âQuiet! Listen!â
The sound came again. Not a scream. At least, not a human scream, and not a sound of distress. A sound of excitement. A call. The hairs prickled up on the back of her neck and arms. The sound came again, longer, rising and falling, a wailing noise. As it started to die away, another voice took it up, and then another. She gripped her bow tightly and set her back firmly to the tree. The sounds were coming closer. And there was another noise, a heavy thudding of hooves.
Tats moved through the tree, clambering around until he was above her and staring in the same direction. She could almost feel the hoof-beats; a very large animal was running in their direction. No. Two. Three? She hunched down to grip the tree and peer along the game trail.
They were not elk, but were perhaps kin to them. Antlerless, with large hummocks of flesh on their front shoulders, and taller at the shoulder than Carson. They were running flat out, throwing up chunks of forest floor as they came. They were too large for this game trail; they were running down it because theyâd been driven. Low branches slapped against them and broke as they fled on. The nostrils of the creature in front were flared wide and blood-red. Flecks of foam flew from his mouth as he came on. The animals behind him were as frantic. They breathed out shrill terror as they ran and the stench of their fear hung in the forest after theyâd thundered past. Neither she nor Tats had even nocked an arrow, Thymara realized in disgust.
âWhat were they â¦?â Tats began, and then a long wailing cry rose and fell again. Another answered, and it was not distant now, but coming closer.
Thymara knew what wolves were. They did not live in the Rain Wilds, but even so, in the old tales that people still told, wolves were the ravening predators that made people shiver in the night. Her imagination, she now saw, had been insufficient for the task. They were huge creatures, red-tongued and white-toothed, shaggy and joyous in their blood-thirst. They poured along the game trail, five, six, eight of them, running flat out, and yet somehow still managing to give tongue to their hunt. It was not a howl, but a yipping, wailing call that said all that meat would soon be theirs.
As the intervening trees and branches blocked them from sight and their hunting calls began to fade, Tats climbed down past her, and then jumped with a thud to the ground. She sighed and shook her head. He was right. After that cacophony, no game animal would remain anywhere in their vicinity. She followed him down and called out in annoyance, âYouâre going the wrong way!â
âNo, Iâm not. Iâve got to see this.â Tats had been walking. Now he broke into a jog, following the same trail the elk and the wolves had taken.
âDonât be stupid! Theyâd be just as happy to tear you to pieces as those elk, or whatever they were!â
He didnât hear her or he didnât care. She stood a moment, wondering if her fear or her anger were stronger. Then she started after him. âTATS!â She didnât care how loud she yelled. There was no game left in this area anyway. âCarson told us to hunt in twos! Those wolves are exactly what he warned us about!â
He was out of sight and she stood still for one indecisive moment. She could go back and tell Carson and the others what had happened. If Tats came back, it would seem childish tale-carrying. If he didnât, she would have let him go to his death alone. Teeth clenched, she put her bow on her back and took an arrow into her hand as if it were a stabbing spear. She hiked her tunic up and tucked
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