Read Online Freewalker by Dennis Foon - Free Book Online

almost got him killed—in more ways than one. What were those strange, deadly pillars in the Dreamfield? Had that vulture or Stowe sensed his presence? Would she pursue him, perhaps even find him?
    Immersed in thought over his unbelievable stupidity, it takes Roan a moment to notice that Lumpy’s neglecting his freshly made fire to stare, unusually still, at something: two bulging eyes peeking out of the water. In a flash, Lumpy lurches forward and snaps his branch against the green shape. “Dinner!” he smiles, gathering in the huge bullfrog.
    Roan’s heart sinks. In Longlight, they never killed animals for food. Necessity has turned him into an omnivore; he’s even grown used to eating fish—but this?
    â€œLook at the size of it,” Lumpy says. “Biggest frog I’ve ever seen. Ever eaten frog’s legs?”
    â€œNo,” says Roan, looking a little pale.
    â€œYou’re going to love them.” Lumpy waves a shorn twig at Roan. “Perfect size. Almost like you knew we’d be roasting frogs tonight,” he chortles, grinning wickedly. He cuts off the frog’s legs, skewers them and sets them on the fire.
    â€œI’ll be eating a bean stick.”
    â€œOh, no, you don’t, we’ve got to conserve our food and eat fresh when we can.”
    Aware of the truth in Lumpy’s words, Roan prepares himself for the worst.
    Lumpy smiles. “Don’t worry, it’s better than termites.”
    The meal was easier to eat than Roan feared, and his stomach is fuller than it’s been since leaving Newlight. Bedrolls spread out, Lumpy tends the fire, adding the largest sticks to keep it burning through the night. Roan hones the blade of the hook-sword, performing the task with the focus of a sand painter. Completely engrossed in the tiniest action, he transforms the mundane task into an intense exercise in seeing. He carefully smooths his stone across the blade, surveying every nick on its edge, and as he works, a picture forms in his mind. A rough, scarred hand, the hand of the sword’s maker. Metal red hot, the maker’s mallet pounding it down. Then a young man’s face, Brother Wolf, but the same age Roan is now.
    â€œDon’t you think you should put that down?” asks Lumpy. “Wouldn’t want to fall asleep and slice off a finger or three.”
    Roan snaps out of his trance. “I was meditating.”
    â€œIt looked like more than just that. Your eyes started fluttering.”
    â€œThe blade was showing me its past,” Roan says.
    â€œGreat, another new trick. Why don’t you put your hand in the muck and see if it will show us the way out of here?”
    â€œI wish I could. But it doesn’t work that way—you’re right, though, I’m bone tired. It’s been a long day.”
    â€œBeen a long four days, if you ask me,” says Lumpy, who stretches out on his bedroll, closes his eyes, and is asleep.
    Roan fastens the sword on his pack but keeps it within easy reach. He lies back, contemplating a sky clouded with stars, and falls easily into a well-earned slumber.
    Something heavy shuffles on Roan’s lap, waking him. He touches it with his finger—cold, slimy. He opens his eyes. In the light of the first quarter moon, he makes out a bulbous form. It’s a giant bullfrog. Startled, he pushes it off. Wide awake now, he sees that every inch of their little island is covered in bullfrogs.
    Lumpy jumps up, throwing a frog off his chest, kicking another at his feet.
    â€œI’m sorry, okay? I was hungry. Sorry!”
    Slinging his bedroll over his shoulders, Roan gingerly makes his way up the tree, followed by a thoroughly revolted Lumpy. Side by side, bedrolls wrapped like armor around them, they nestle in the topmost branches, observing the quivering mass below.
    â€œIt could be possible they resent us making a meal of them, but more likely they were driven out of the