Shadow Weaver (Back on Wattpad 2020!)

Chapter 17

On the sixth day of my separation from Kel, I am woken by the sound of hooves. I do not sit up, but roll over in the long grass and spy the King's soldiers in their gray uniforms, riding on the distant road. Tug catches my eye. The others do not stir.

I lie still until I am sure the soldiers have passed. Then I rise quietly, stretch my legs and amble away from the men. I do not intend to run off. I only wish to be on my own for a short time, in a sunny field, with the illusion of freedom. But Tug follows, swishing through the grass behind me.

"How does the grass grow so quickly here?" I ask.

"It is like this further south. The land comes back to life more swiftly after the winter. Here." I turn and see he has my bow and arrow. I look at him sceptically. Clearly he does not fear I will shoot him. His self-assurance on the matter makes me want to take him by surprise. Just imagine the look on his face!

But once again, he is accurate in his assessment. I had a hard enough time shooting his wolf dog. I kill beasts of the forest only for survival. Shooting a man in cold blood, when I am not under attack, goes against my nature.

"Let's hunt," he says. "I am tired of eating grain."

For a moment my gaze wanders to the pack on his back. Are my knives in there? I miss them. Still, manipulating my bow and arrow again is better than nothing. I remove my cloak and drop it on the ground to collect later. Once my quiver is strapped to my back, I try pulling an arrow in its bow. I am happy to discover all the riding and Deadran's remedies have strengthened my arm.

"See if you can keep up," Tug says. And with that he is leaping through the grass towards woodland. I run after him. It feels wonderful to be moving my stiff legs after so many days in a saddle, to have the sun on my face, to smell the warm grass, hear the birds chirping, and think of nothing. For all his size, Tug is fast. I can barely keep up.

We enter the woodland and a welcome hush fills the air. Buds sprout from slim trees. Blue and purple flowers poke up through layers of brown mushy leaves. Tug signals me to halt. I stop twenty feet from him and listen, catching the rustle of small animals foraging—a red squirrel, and birds. There are hundreds and hundreds of tiny birds with blue-tipped wings and yellow bellies. Then I sense the mind of a larger creature.

We creep forward silently. Soft white speckles appear through spindly branches. A fawn. Its tawny ears twitch as it wobbles on delicate legs. Tug raises his bow and arrow. Pa taught me never to strip the world of such young beauty.

I lower the toes of my boot across a large twig. As it snaps, Tug fires his arrow. The bow pings and the fawn scrambles away. I'm surprised he missed such a clear shot, even with my interference, until I see the rabbit lying in the undergrowth, sprawled on its side, twitching.

Tug strides through the mulch and picks it up. His wrists flick. The creature's neck cracks as it breaks. A swift, clean death. Tug holds out the rabbit for me to carry.

"Do you not like deer?" he asks.

I grab the rabbit's ears and offer up a silent thank you to the spirit world for this gift of life. "It was too young."

Tug's lips close in what almost resembles approval. If it were a week ago, I would have been shocked, but I have seen him changing over the last few days. Since he made his deal with the Prince, he reminds me of a sleeping volcano rumbling to life, or the earth shifting in imperceptible increments beneath one's feet.

"Let me see what kind of shot you are," he says. He takes out his knife and carves a slash in a tree fifteen feet away. If I didn't know better, I would think he was mocking me. The target is ridiculously easy. Maybe he thinks my injury is still too much of a handicap to my aim.