Read Online Dragons of the Valley by Donita K. Paul - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Donita K. Paul
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toward the camp.
The Grawl’s nostrils flared as he detected the kimen. She’d returned to the same spot where he had lost the scent of the man.
The o’rant posed a problem. The female kimen would die with one well-placed smack, much like the swatting of a gnat. But the o’rant … All circumstances would have to be on The Grawl’s side in order for him to win a fight with this o’rant. He wanted all the odds in his favor. The man had too many unknown qualities about him. It bothered The Grawl that he could not pinpoint the o’rant’s position.
He circled the area where the kimen now lingered. She might provide a clue. But he moved warily. He did not want to come across the old man unexpectedly.
A whiff of the o’rant stopped him. With great caution, The Grawl turned his head, allowing his eyes to explore the terrain. The kimen sat on the limb of a tree, much like a bird, constantly twitching. Little birdies annoyed The Grawl. So did the kimen. But the o’rant … Where was the o’rant?
Again he purposefully ignored the small creature and tried to find the other. His nose picked up the faint citrus smell of an o’rant. A woody scent almost obliterated the telltale odor of the high race.
Patience while hunting was a necessity. His capacity to outwait prey made him a particularly successful hunter. The Grawl waited, alert and ready to act. He didn’t want to engage this foe, but he wanted to know as much about him as possible. He didn’t plan to hunt the man—unless he was offered a bounty, of course. But one as powerful as this o’rant might choose to hunt him.
The Grawl had not often been the subject of the hunt. Too many feared him. His lips pulled back in a soundless sneer.
A breeze stirred the long hair draping over his shoulders. It also carrieda stronger fragrance of wood and citrus. The Grawl turned his head toward the scent. A tree caught his attention. The bark and leaves of the plant contrasted with the other trees, just enough for The Grawl to become wary.
Inch by inch, he examined the trunk. When he reached a height equal to his chest, he paused. Two holes where branches had broken off looked like eyes. He scoffed at himself. “Looked like eyes” did not make them eyes. Still he studied them, and as he stared, the holes looked more like eyes, eyes that stared back. And then one wooden eyelid dropped and rose again. The Grawl held his breath.
A wizard. He’d heard of wizards but never encountered one. Slowly he backed up. Now he could feel the power emanating from the tree. He could see that one part of the bark and leaves resembled a beard. His muscles tensed. This tree wizard could defeat him. The Grawl would be sure he never engaged this creature in a fair fight. No profit came from a fight. He was a hunter, and his skill brought him much reward. He left the slaughter of army against army to those who had no skill.
He clenched his claws into the palms of his hands and backed into a tangle of bushes that would hide his departure.
“There you are, Wizard Fenworth,” the kimen spoke as she dropped to the ground. “I thought this was you.” She giggled.
One more step back and The Grawl was out of the wizard’s line of vision. He’d been careful. The kimen had never detected his presence. But not careful enough. The wizard knew. The Grawl turned and sprinted through the woods.
He wasn’t running away. No panic surged through him. He was smart, prudent, and alive. The Grawl. The Hunter. Not the warrior. Not the hunted. The Grawl’s pride in who he was vanquished the momentary feeling of inadequacy that fell upon him under the gaze of the wizard.
Hunger hurried his pace. He sensed a herd of deer in the valley.
Hollee watched as Fenworth stood, stretched, and shook the last vestige of treeness from his form. Foliage fell around him, leaving him in his somber robes of brown and gray, the apparel he chose for traveling. She liked his fancier colorful robes better.
“We’ve
The Grawl’s nostrils flared as he detected the kimen. She’d returned to the same spot where he had lost the scent of the man.
The o’rant posed a problem. The female kimen would die with one well-placed smack, much like the swatting of a gnat. But the o’rant … All circumstances would have to be on The Grawl’s side in order for him to win a fight with this o’rant. He wanted all the odds in his favor. The man had too many unknown qualities about him. It bothered The Grawl that he could not pinpoint the o’rant’s position.
He circled the area where the kimen now lingered. She might provide a clue. But he moved warily. He did not want to come across the old man unexpectedly.
A whiff of the o’rant stopped him. With great caution, The Grawl turned his head, allowing his eyes to explore the terrain. The kimen sat on the limb of a tree, much like a bird, constantly twitching. Little birdies annoyed The Grawl. So did the kimen. But the o’rant … Where was the o’rant?
Again he purposefully ignored the small creature and tried to find the other. His nose picked up the faint citrus smell of an o’rant. A woody scent almost obliterated the telltale odor of the high race.
Patience while hunting was a necessity. His capacity to outwait prey made him a particularly successful hunter. The Grawl waited, alert and ready to act. He didn’t want to engage this foe, but he wanted to know as much about him as possible. He didn’t plan to hunt the man—unless he was offered a bounty, of course. But one as powerful as this o’rant might choose to hunt him.
The Grawl had not often been the subject of the hunt. Too many feared him. His lips pulled back in a soundless sneer.
A breeze stirred the long hair draping over his shoulders. It also carrieda stronger fragrance of wood and citrus. The Grawl turned his head toward the scent. A tree caught his attention. The bark and leaves of the plant contrasted with the other trees, just enough for The Grawl to become wary.
Inch by inch, he examined the trunk. When he reached a height equal to his chest, he paused. Two holes where branches had broken off looked like eyes. He scoffed at himself. “Looked like eyes” did not make them eyes. Still he studied them, and as he stared, the holes looked more like eyes, eyes that stared back. And then one wooden eyelid dropped and rose again. The Grawl held his breath.
A wizard. He’d heard of wizards but never encountered one. Slowly he backed up. Now he could feel the power emanating from the tree. He could see that one part of the bark and leaves resembled a beard. His muscles tensed. This tree wizard could defeat him. The Grawl would be sure he never engaged this creature in a fair fight. No profit came from a fight. He was a hunter, and his skill brought him much reward. He left the slaughter of army against army to those who had no skill.
He clenched his claws into the palms of his hands and backed into a tangle of bushes that would hide his departure.
“There you are, Wizard Fenworth,” the kimen spoke as she dropped to the ground. “I thought this was you.” She giggled.
One more step back and The Grawl was out of the wizard’s line of vision. He’d been careful. The kimen had never detected his presence. But not careful enough. The wizard knew. The Grawl turned and sprinted through the woods.
He wasn’t running away. No panic surged through him. He was smart, prudent, and alive. The Grawl. The Hunter. Not the warrior. Not the hunted. The Grawl’s pride in who he was vanquished the momentary feeling of inadequacy that fell upon him under the gaze of the wizard.
Hunger hurried his pace. He sensed a herd of deer in the valley.
Hollee watched as Fenworth stood, stretched, and shook the last vestige of treeness from his form. Foliage fell around him, leaving him in his somber robes of brown and gray, the apparel he chose for traveling. She liked his fancier colorful robes better.
“We’ve
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