|
It was hunger, mostly that made White Paw begin to hurry his boy and the other along. While they had gathered branches at their various stops, the dog had gone out hunting. He was normally quite successful at nosing out the odd brave rabbit or even the less satisfying small mouse. He would hear their skittering footfalls as they tracked along the snowy crust and stalk them until he made his kill. But today the woods were unnaturally quiet, with only the fall of a clump of snow from some branch breaking the thick silence.
The two-foots were oblivious, it seemed.
Something seemed to press in upon the woods. Something waiting and watching. All the animals had gone to ground, and no solitary raven kaw’d from the trees.
Hunger turned to an uneasiness that prodded him to herd his charges home. A nip here at Birger’s ankles, a tug on the woman’s cloak. The sun was sinking well below the lower branches of the trees as the trio neared the gate to the village.
Behind them, in the darkening foothills a moaning cry rippled through the snowy firs . . .
|