Storm heard Ishy moan.
“I gave him every chance,” persisted Kelsy.
Storm thought Ishy might attack Kelsy, but instead he just ran away into the trees, keening softly.
It was then that Kelsy noticed Storm. Their eyes met, and a look of recognition shot across Kelsy’s face. Is that guilt? wondered Storm. Because of me or because of Ally?
“I did all I could,” said Kelsy again, as if trying to convince himself. The orphans bowed their heads and slunk into the trees.
Two days later, the grass came.
Chapter 16. Spring
Grass grew in every hollow and under every leafing and budding tree. The ferryshaft lost their winter coats in ragged chunks. The ground around their sleeping areas grew matted with fur, and Storm saw the birds plucking it up to line their nests.
Storm’s short summer coat was a much paler gray with only smudges of dark smoke. “It’s a good thing we don’t have to hunt much in summer,” Leep told him. “You’d scare the game. In dirty snow, though, you’ll blend right in.”
Storm butted Leep with his head. “As though you blend any better!”
Leep’s summer coat was sleek and black, with just a trace of white around his muzzle and ears. They’d all been eating better, and it showed. Storm couldn’t help noticing how the females watched Leep whenever they passed.
“He’s only a two-year-old,” Tracer would shout, “but we’ll loan him to you if we can hunt with you next winter!”
“Tracer, shut up!” Leep would hiss.
The herd now occupied the spring feeding grounds—an area farther north than Storm had ever been in his winter explorations. As the snow melted from the plain, many of the ferryshaft moved out of the rocks in favor of the green fields. The expectant mothers, however, stayed close to the cliffs. The region had an uncommonly large number of dry caves, and these became birthing chambers for the ferryshaft.
So-fet was not among them. Storm was old enough now to realize that his mother’s friends—including the ones he disliked—had helped her to fight off unwanted male attention last fall. She had avoided having another foal so soon in order to better care for him. As the abundance of the season provided delicacies, he sometimes brought her mushrooms, clover, or bird’s eggs. He found he enjoyed spending time with her again, now that he knew he was not a burden.
Life became happier for another reason as well: the creasia stopped coming. Storm gathered from the conversations of adults that they never raided in the spring and rarely in the summer. They’re giving us a chance to grow, he thought bitterly, so that they’ll have more to kill in the winter. Nevertheless, the release from fear was blissful.
The close bonds of cliques, so vital during winter, loosened as the weather grew warm. They had been essential allies. Now they were only occasional playmates. Storm still spent time with Leep and Tracer, but he hardly saw Mylo, Callaris, Tollee, or Ishy.
Storm even risked a visit to Pathar. The old ferryshaft seemed pleased to see him and did not seem to regard Storm’s winter absence as a betrayal.
Storm spent long, pleasant days playing sholo and hide-and-hunt among the rocks and up and down the cliffs with Tracer and Leep. Sometimes, they hunted lambs, for the sheep were giving birth as well, and newborn lambs were clumsy.
More often than not, their quarry escaped over the slender sheep trails, where no one dared to follow. Storm was fascinated by these precarious paths. He began, slowly and in private, to explore a few of them. They were very dangerous, but he took his time and always turned back if he could no longer see a path. Storm could not help remembering those early days in winter when hide-and-hunt had not been a game to him. I’m getting too big to fit in my old hiding places, but something like this might work if I ever have to flee for my food again.
Rarely, the sheep trails led to caves in the cliff. Storm considered these the ultimate find—places where he could rest and eat a meal without fear of falling or of being caught. It was in one such cave that he first noticed strange markings—lines scratched in the stone, with shapes and circles scratched over them. The markings looked purposeful—like something a ferryshaft could have done with a sharp rock. He couldn’t imagine why anyone would do such a thing, but the sight made him uneasy. Something other than sheep had been in these caves.
He thought of asking Tracer or Leep about it, but he was sure they would only tell him he was a fool for traipsing about on sheep trails. His mother certainly didn’t want to hear that he’d been exploring such dangerous places. In the end, he asked only Pathar about the markings.
Pathar smiled in an odd way. “I have no idea what those could be, Storm.”
Storm stared at him. He knew, beyond a doubt, that his teacher was lying. Before he could formulate a response, Pathar continued. “You might find more of these markings—of which I know nothing—in other caves on the ground, especially near water.”
After that, Storm looked for the markings everywhere. He found them, as Pathar had said, most often in caves where he could hear the distant murmur of an underground stream. Sometimes, he almost imagined that he could discern a pattern. Perhaps the markings meant “drinkable water” or “safe birthing cave” or even “danger of rockslide.” But nothing that he could think of applied to all the places where he found the markings.
And then the season ended. All too soon, the last of the foals were born, the weather grew hot, and the streams dried up. Water became scarce, and finally word trickled through the herd that Charder, their leader, had judged the time was right to move to Chelby Lake.
Chapter 17. A Narrow Escape
One hot summer day around noon, Storm went for a dip alone in the lake. Last year he would not have dared to do this, for the rest of the herd was still on the plain. But he was a yearling, and age brought freedom. He stood blinking in the belly-deep water, his hooves half-sunk in mud, thinking about nothing in particular.
A voice startled him. “Storm, do you know what the curb trap was made of?”
Storm turned towards the bank. He was further surprised to see Tollee.
“I’ve never seen vines like that before,” she continued, not quite looking at him. “I thought I might see them at the spring feeding grounds. I was too young to remember that sort of thing last year. But they weren’t there, and there’s nothing like them here. You—” She faltered. “You sniffed them afterwards like…like you knew.”
Storm cocked his head. You’ve been wondering about that all this time? He slogged up the bank and shook himself. Tollee backed away from the spray of water. “They’re from Groth,” he said.
She looked at him blankly.
“The forest on the edge of the plain to the north. The herd never goes near it, but Pathar took me once. It…it eats things.”
He could tell that she did not understand.
“The plants…they don’t look like anything you’ve ever seen. They—” A thought occurred to him. “You were watching me when I sniffed the curb trap that day on the cliffs?”
“Yes.”
Storm took a deep breath. “Did it…move?”
Tollee hesitated. “Yes.”
Storm sat back. “It wrapped around my hoof, didn’t it?”
“Yes. It looked reflexive…like a branch springing back when you press it to the ground. It didn’t look…alive.”
Storm thought about that.
Tollee turned away.
Storm called after her. “Tollee… You’re not going, are you?”
She looked back at him. “Going where?”
Storm thought she sounded too casual. “You are, aren’t you? You’re going to have a look at Groth.”
Tollee didn’t say anything.
It’ll be my fault when she doesn’t come back.
“Let me go with you.”
Her ears flattened, but he kept talking. “It’s a day’s journey, and I’ve been there before.” He thought of Pathar, stumbling through the wood, calling to ghosts that only he could
see. “Please don’t go alone.”
Tollee looked noncommittal.
“Tomorrow morning,” said Storm desperately. “You’re sleeping near Mylo and Callaris, right? I’ll come and get you. We’ll be gone for two days. Will Mylo care?”
“No,” said Tollee.
“Well, then, we’ll go.” And if you change your mind by tomorrow, all the better.
* * * *
She did not change her mind. In fact, she was gone when Storm arrived in the misty dawn of the next day. He found the flattened grass where she’d been sleeping and didn’t bother to wake Mylo or Callaris. The scent was fresh enough to imply that she’d lain down that night, but the spot was cold. She’d been gone for some time.
Storm used a few of the curse words he’d learned from Tracer as he hurried away along her trail. He’d gotten much better at tracking since he’d been running with Mylo’s clique. Ishy and Tracer were both better than Storm, but he could follow a fresh trail.
He lost her briefly amid the scents of so many other ferryshaft and had to spend precious time combing the edges of the herd’s sleeping area until he found her scent again, heading north along the edge of Chelby Wood. She crossed a stream and Storm lost her again. It took a while for him to realize that she’d walked in the stream all the way to the lake and then swum for a brief distance before climbing out again.
She is trying to make sure that no one follows her. “Well, I know where you’re going,” he said aloud. “Muddy the trail all you like, I’ll still find you.” Why does she want to go to Groth? Why alone? He thought of the way she’d bitten the curb trap when she knew it might be poisoned. He shivered.
The sun rose and made the grass glow golden. Storm was reminded of coming this way with Pathar. What an adventure it had seemed! Now he just felt worried. His mood did not improve when, about midmorning, he looked back and saw a collection of black dots on the distant plain behind him. He thought he knew what they were—curbs. He’d seen one last year, probably. Only then he was too young to know his danger.
Storm abandoned Tollee’s trail through the grass and moved into Chelby Wood. The going was slower beneath the trees, among roots and through underbrush, but he thought it possible that the curbs had not seen him, and he wanted to keep it that way.
He regretted his decision when he emerged from the wood around noon. The shapes were much closer. He could count six of them, and he could even make out individual legs and bushy tails. Only a small pack, Storm told himself.
They had clearly elected to stay with Tollee’s scent trail, rather than following Storm’s trail into the trees. This had allowed them to close much of the distance while he was moving more slowly through the wood. I am doing everything wrong today.
There seemed to be no point in going back into the trees. If he could see them clearly, they could see him. Storm knew that curbs preferred to attack animals that were young, sick, injured, or alone. However… I do seem to be alone. Tollee has probably already gotten herself eaten. By size and at a distance, Storm might even be mistaken for a young foal—one of those born that year by the cliffs. They are hunting me, he realized and felt a stab of panic.
Storm started to run. He ran and did not look back as the sun passed its zenith. He had no idea whether he was still following Tollee’s trail. In the hottest part of the day, as the sun was starting down the sky, he pulled up, panting, and allowed himself a backwards glance.
To his horror, the curbs were closer. Much closer. They would be on him in moments if he did not move.
Storm started away again, and then…hesitated. This isn’t working. He remembered Pathar teaching him to turn on the ice instead of running in a straight line. “Not outrun. Outmaneuver.”
Storm felt like a fool. He’d been doing just that—panicking, trying to outdistance his pursuers in plain sight without a plan. Dare I go back into the trees? The trees had slowed him before and allowed the curbs to catch up. What about the lake? Would they follow me if I tried to swim away? Storm wasn’t sure, but it was a better plan than letting them catch him in the open. However, he didn’t think he had enough of a lead to reach the water.
He’d been afraid to leave the edge of the trees because they offered some cover, but… Storm veered straight away onto the open plain. He did not know this area at all, but he did know something about the plain. I saw a curb disappear out here last year. Let’s see if I can make it happen again. The grass was tall farther away from the trees—tall enough to crouch down and hide, but that wouldn’t help with the curbs on his scent trail.
However… They’re hunting by sight, Storm realized. They can run faster when they don’t have to follow a scent. I’ve been providing them with quarry that they can see.
The ground began to slope gently down, and he felt a thrill. When he looked back, he could no longer see the curbs. I’m in a trough. They’re still very close. I just can’t see them…and they can’t see me.
Storm changed directions, angling back south towards the herd…and possibly towards the curbs. He’d never once run in that direction all day, and he didn’t think the curbs would expect it. He ran as hard as he could, using precious energy, but this time it would not be wasted. They will be slower, following the scent, and I will be faster. I will get a better lead.
Storm made a broad loop, hoping that they wouldn’t guess he was headed back towards the lake. He was sure his lead had improved—or at least not worsened—otherwise, they would have been on him by now. At last, he came thundering out of the grass, headed straight for the trees. Subterfuge was over. Now, he needed to reach the water before he was caught.
Storm heard a yip behind him and felt a new stab of fear. He bounded through the trees, branches slapping his face, thorns and bushes clawing at him. He nearly stumbled on a root. He was sure that, if he fell, he would never get up.
Through the trees ahead, he saw a blue glimmer. Then hot pain stabbed his flank, and Storm screamed. His body lashed instinctively, and the pain fell away, but they were all around him now, running with him, jumping at him, snapping, and then he was skidding and stumbling down the muddy, root-tangled bank of the lake. He landed heavily in shallow water with a curb beside him, leaping at his throat. It clamped down with horrible force, and its weight forced his head underwater. He couldn’t breathe.
And then he could.
Storm’s head shot out of the water. Dimly, through his fear and pain, he heard a piercing yelp—snarls, a whimper. Someone was shouting his name. “Storm! Get up! Get up, you lizard turd! If your leg is broken, I swear I’ll gut you myself! Get up!”
Storm was already on his feet, staggering through hock-deep water. Tollee stood on the edge of the muddy bank, head low, hackles high, teeth bare to the gums. She was snapping and darting at three curbs. The body of a fourth lay sprawled at the base of the bank.
Another curb leapt at Storm. This time, he reared back and his lashing hoof caught it a glancing blow. The animal yelped. Before it could get its balance, Storm brought both front hooves down on its head and back, driving it deep into the muddy water. He felt the animal struggling and applied all his weight. A moment later, it was still.
When Storm looked back to the top of the bank, Tollee was standing there alone, panting.
“Are they gone?” Storm managed between gasps.
“Think…so…” she said.
After a moment, Tollee skidded down the bank, nearly tripping over the body of the curb she’d killed. She buried her muzzle in the water and drank. Storm watched the trees, but nothing moved. He looked back at Tollee.
“I thought I came out here to save your life. Seems to be the other way around.”
Tollee smiled. Storm didn’t think he’d ever seen her smile. “They probably would have killed either one of us alone. Two of us aren’t worth it. Why did you run from them? Better to put your back against something and fight.”
Storm shook his ears. “Running is what I’m good at.”
Tollee s
miled again. This time it was more of a smirk.
“And, yes, I know that it wasn’t working very well,” said Storm.
“You’re bleeding,” she said.
Storm twisted around to inspect the bite wound on his flank.
“Looks like more of a large bruise than a deep bite,” said Tollee. “You get that when they’re trying to latch on and drag you down. Your neck will probably be bruised, too.”
Storm nodded. He felt sore, but not badly injured. The curb that he had drowned had floated to the surface. Storm examined it curiously. The animal did look superficially like a fox, but it was much bigger—almost as tall as Storm—and it had stripes along its lower back. Its short, tan and black fur covered lean muscles. It looked rugged and fierce, even floating dead in the water.
Tollee nosed around her own kill, then clambered up the bank. Storm saw that she’d hamstrung the curb. From the way it was lying, he guessed that she’d then broken its back. It had no other wounds—a very neat kill. Storm was impressed.
They moved through the wood until they found a patch of nut-bearing trees. They proceeded to comb over the ground for the rich, flavorful nuts. “Did you see Groth?” asked Storm as they ate.
“Yes.”
He felt relieved. “I thought maybe you wanted to—”
“To walk away in there?” She twitched her tail. “I thought about it.”
“Why?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
Storm frowned. “Is Mylo…unkind?”
Tollee laughed. “No. No, I chose Mylo because he wasn’t asking.” She glanced at Storm sidelong. “But you didn’t have to join a clique at all. You were doing fine on your own.”
Storm shook his ears. “Because I’m good at running away.” He had a flash of insight. “But you never ran, did you? You fought.”
Tollee said nothing.
Storm remembered how ragged she’d looked the first time he’d seen her. He’d thought it was just malnutrition, but maybe not. Maybe she had a lot of scars under that glossy summer coat. “You can run from a whole clique,” said Storm, “but it’s pretty hard to fight all of them, even if you are good at it.”
Storm remembered what Tollee had said on the cliff before she’d bitten through the curb trap, the contempt in her voice as she’d said, “Cowards.”
Hunters Unlucky, Book 1 Storm Page 7