Read Online The Children Of The Mist by Jenny Brigalow - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jenny Brigalow
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seconds. Zest pulled his long knife from the steerâs neck and stepped back. The steer was dead. Blood pooled around his still body like mercury, silver and glistening in the moonlight. The pack stepped back and looked at Zest as a token of their respect. Moved by their acceptance and generosity he cut a large piece from the huge hindquarter. It smelled rich and ripe. The flesh was warm and thick with blood. It was good to be alive.
For a couple of hours the pack ate its fill. Sated and content they headed back to their lair. They travelled slowly, fat and full. Back at the den Zest watched, wistful andwanting, as they disappeared into the small caves and holes snug in the steep side of the mountain. While he wished with every fibre of his being that he too could curl up in a jumble of furry limbs and soft pelt, he knew it was impossible. He was too damn big for starters. Besides, he knew the human part of him would not let him rest so easily. There was Morven. She would need him. Of this he was sure.
Reluctantly he turned for home. It was only as he reached the freeway to the north that he remembered his board. Damn it. Heâd have to go back for it tomorrow. Itâd be a good excuse to see Morvenâs parents, and see how she was going. He travelled in the shelter of the pine forest that stretched for miles along the wide bitumen road. Sometimes he could see the moon through the needled branches, smiling down at him. She flirted and cajoled. Zest felt her power and wondered what it would be like to surrender. It was a fascinating but scary thought, one which he had turned over in his mind often. Sometimes he had nearly given in, nearly driven insane by the forces that battled within. But always, at the last moment, heâd chickened out.
Before heâd died, his dad had told him that heâd know when the time was right. Back then, when he was just seven, Zest had believed that his parent would be there to guide him. Protect him. But he was alone now. Always alone. How could he be sure when the right time arrived? What was the point, if there was no one there to share it with? He wanted to belong. And up until now, heâd survived on the fringes of humanity. At times it was a life worth living. Especially in the city on his board with his mates. With Morven.
But Zest knew that these small moments of belonging were all he would ever know, while he kept the secret locked up inside. Although he fantasised about the alternative, he managed to suppress many of his wilder dreams. They only filled him with a deep depression that was hard to shake. He tried to keep busy, with school, work and skating. There had seemed little point in dwelling on dreams. Until today.
Today made everything different. A sign loomed up. Normally Zest would have known it was the right exit by the lights of the petrol station, just off the highway. But tonight he could clearly read the sign. His eyesight was as keen as it would normally be in the day. Home was close.
Just before the exit, he ducked into a field and headed west. The smell of cattle caught his attention briefly. But he ignored them. He was still full. The thrill of the chase and the glory of the kill reared up into his head. Chemicals burst like fireworks in his brain and he broke into a run. Grouse flew out of the long grass, shrieking in protest and alarm. With lightning precision Zest snatched at the air. His hand fastened around a slender, feathery neck. And then he hesitated. Feathers were tricky to deal with. He wasnât that hungry. He let the bird go. She fell to the ground like a log and lay still. But he could hear her heart beating like a pneumatic drill in her chest. It was, Zest decided, her lucky day.
Several minutes later he jogged steadily past the garage, past the office and showroom, to a small caravan parked behind a copse of trees. Zest paused and looked around. All was quiet. He pulled out his key and opened the door. It wasnât much.
For a couple of hours the pack ate its fill. Sated and content they headed back to their lair. They travelled slowly, fat and full. Back at the den Zest watched, wistful andwanting, as they disappeared into the small caves and holes snug in the steep side of the mountain. While he wished with every fibre of his being that he too could curl up in a jumble of furry limbs and soft pelt, he knew it was impossible. He was too damn big for starters. Besides, he knew the human part of him would not let him rest so easily. There was Morven. She would need him. Of this he was sure.
Reluctantly he turned for home. It was only as he reached the freeway to the north that he remembered his board. Damn it. Heâd have to go back for it tomorrow. Itâd be a good excuse to see Morvenâs parents, and see how she was going. He travelled in the shelter of the pine forest that stretched for miles along the wide bitumen road. Sometimes he could see the moon through the needled branches, smiling down at him. She flirted and cajoled. Zest felt her power and wondered what it would be like to surrender. It was a fascinating but scary thought, one which he had turned over in his mind often. Sometimes he had nearly given in, nearly driven insane by the forces that battled within. But always, at the last moment, heâd chickened out.
Before heâd died, his dad had told him that heâd know when the time was right. Back then, when he was just seven, Zest had believed that his parent would be there to guide him. Protect him. But he was alone now. Always alone. How could he be sure when the right time arrived? What was the point, if there was no one there to share it with? He wanted to belong. And up until now, heâd survived on the fringes of humanity. At times it was a life worth living. Especially in the city on his board with his mates. With Morven.
But Zest knew that these small moments of belonging were all he would ever know, while he kept the secret locked up inside. Although he fantasised about the alternative, he managed to suppress many of his wilder dreams. They only filled him with a deep depression that was hard to shake. He tried to keep busy, with school, work and skating. There had seemed little point in dwelling on dreams. Until today.
Today made everything different. A sign loomed up. Normally Zest would have known it was the right exit by the lights of the petrol station, just off the highway. But tonight he could clearly read the sign. His eyesight was as keen as it would normally be in the day. Home was close.
Just before the exit, he ducked into a field and headed west. The smell of cattle caught his attention briefly. But he ignored them. He was still full. The thrill of the chase and the glory of the kill reared up into his head. Chemicals burst like fireworks in his brain and he broke into a run. Grouse flew out of the long grass, shrieking in protest and alarm. With lightning precision Zest snatched at the air. His hand fastened around a slender, feathery neck. And then he hesitated. Feathers were tricky to deal with. He wasnât that hungry. He let the bird go. She fell to the ground like a log and lay still. But he could hear her heart beating like a pneumatic drill in her chest. It was, Zest decided, her lucky day.
Several minutes later he jogged steadily past the garage, past the office and showroom, to a small caravan parked behind a copse of trees. Zest paused and looked around. All was quiet. He pulled out his key and opened the door. It wasnât much.
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