(664 A.C.)
Plin watched with wide eyes as Andurak slumped forward. He could barely make out anything from behind the curve of Wanily’s shoulder and the tangled mess of her blonde hair, but he could clearly see Mom knock out Andurak with the butt of her spear. Wanily let out a wordless cry and scrambled out of the warmth of the tent.
Uncle Reed caught her before she made it more than five steps out of the tent, wrapping his arms around her middle and hoisting her up so her feet left the ground. Wanily kicked at him, her new coat flailing, but Uncle Reed just grunted and grabbed a fistful of her hair, tugging on it until she let out a whimper and mostly stopped struggling.
“What are you doing?” Wanily shouted, still clawing at Uncle Reed’s handful of her hair. He gave another pull and she stopped completely, her arms falling to her sides.
“Mom..?” Plin asked, gaze snapping from Wanily’s subdued form to Andurak and back.
His mom caught Plin’s eye and smiled at him. It was the kind of smile that she gave him when he woke up after a nightmare. This certainly felt like one. “Go back to bed, Plin. You, too, Freya. We just want to have a little chat with Wanily.”
Plin’s gaze fell to Andurak’s still form at his mom’s feet. If it wasn’t for the small cloud of white that followed each of his exhales, Andurak almost looked dead. “But–”
“That wasn’t a request, Plin,” his mom said, harsh enough that he flinched. “Go back to bed.”
“Plin! Freya!” That was Wanily, trying to twist her neck to look at him with Uncle Reed still holding onto her hair. Even from the ground, Plin could tell she was trembling, but he didn’t know if it was from fear or the cold. “Help us!”
Uncle Reed stared down at him from above the top of Wanily’s head. Plin heard Freya gulp next to him and retreat back into the tent. Plin gaped at Wanily, slid his gaze down back to Andurak, and finally squirmed back, letting the tent flap fall back into place. His mom told him to go back to bed, and Freya obviously wasn’t going to help Wanily, and–and if Mom and Uncle Reed and everyone else were doing all this they had to have a good reason. It wasn’t Plin’s place to do anything. Wanily had been nice enough to him, and they’d had fun playing together, but Mom knew more than him. If Mom said he should go back to bed, then–then he would go back to bed. Maybe Andurak did something bad. And Wanily was with Andurak so they had to get her before she could help him.
Plin hunkered down in the back of the tent next to Freya. She sat with her knees tucked up to her chest and her chin resting on top of them. She watched Plin with wide eyes as he settled next to her and took up the same position, knees tucked, chin rested.
“Auntie Minora knows what’s best,” she murmured. She knocked her shoulder against Plin’s. “So don’t pout. It’ll be okay.”
“I’m not pouting,” Plin said. “And you’re pouting, too.”
Freya gave a wavering smile and hugged her legs closer to her chest. Outside, Plin could hear something being dragged–probably Andurak. Freya must have heard it, too, because her smile disappeared in the next second. “What do you think Mr. Lonesome did?”
Plin shrugged. He didn’t have a clue what Andurak did, but it must have been real bad to make Mom knock him out like that. “It’s grown-up business,” Plin said finally. “My mom will sort it out.”
Freya frowned. “We should check it out.”
“My mom said to go back to bed.”
Freya fixed him with a look she must have picked up from her father–it told Plin she thought he was being stupid. “Then you can stay here,” she declared, “and I’ll go check it out.”
Plin tensed as Freya crawled forward, cracking open the tent flap and peeking out. He could see Grandma and Grandpa talking by the fire with their backs turned to Plin and Freya’s tent. Freya pulled the flap out a little further and stuck her head out, twisting it one way then another. Eventually, she pulled her head back in and glanced back at Plin.
“Coast is clear,” she said. “It’s now or never.”
Plin gripped his arms, fingers digging into his flesh, before he gave a single, determined nod. He wasn’t a baby. And–And he didn’t want to sit here like a baby while Freya went and found out whatever was going on. He crawled over to her, and when she peeked back outside, he looked with her. A couple of the adults were on watch a little way past the fire, his grandparents by the fire, and everyone else was out of sight. Which meant they had to be in the main tent.
Freya slinked out of the tent and held the flap open for Plin. He wriggled his way out after her, and she carefully put the tent flap back. Plin kept one eye on his grandparents, but they were deep in conversation and weren’t even looking at each other as they talked, eyes trained on the fire. Or–that wasn’t right. They were watching a still form beside the fire, bound at the feet and hands and gagged. Andurak.
Plin swallowed hard, tearing his gaze away. He started creeping toward the front of the main tent, but felt a tap on his shoulder. Freya pointed to the side of the tent, sending him an imploring look. Plin nodded, changing his path toward the side and following Freya as she stalked around to the back. She crouched down next to the tent wall and pushed her ear as close to it as she could without actually touching it. Plin knelt across from her and did the same, close enough that the white clouds from their breathing looked like one.
“When is he going to wake up?” Wanily’s voice.
“Soon, I’m sure. I didn’t hit him that hard, sweetie,” Mom answered.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Okay.” Mom’s voice was so soft and gentle, Plin almost couldn’t hear it. “Wanily, I’m sorry you had to see all that.”
“You attacked him. Then you attacked me! What’s the big idea?”
Mom sighed. “I wish we didn’t have to take such extreme measures, but you must understand that we weren’t trying to hurt either of you.”
“Then why did you?” Wanily demanded.
“Wanily, please calm down. You’re making things more difficult than they need to be.”
Wanily laughed, harsh as a hammer striking metal. “Maybe I’d calm down if he put that stupid spear away, and if he let me go.”
Plin squinted at the wall of the tent, but he couldn’t make out any shadows cast on it from the light inside. The furs must have been too thick. Uncle Reed was probably still holding her, but who would be holding a spear at her? And why?
Andurak must have done something very, very bad. It was the only thing Plin could think of. Mom wouldn’t do something like this unless she had to.
But why would they be threatening Wanily, then?
“If I let you go, Wanily, I don’t want you to get any ideas about running away. Do you understand?” Mom said.
Wanily’s voice was much quieter when she finally responded a few moments later. “I understand.”
Some rustling sounded, followed by some shuffling, and then all was still again. “Is that better?” A pause, and Plin figured Wanily must have nodded, because Mom said, “Good.” Plin could hear the smile in her voice. “The ‘big idea’ here is that Andurak and I had something of a disagreement.”
Someone snorted. Probably Wanily.
The smile coloring Mom’s voice was gone. “I just want to help people, Wanily. Andurak disagreed. But you agree with me, right? That if you have the power to help someone, then you should?”
“Andurak wants to help people. He’s helping me.”
“Oh, Wanily,” Mom murmured, almost too soft for Plin’s ear to catch. “Andurak isn’t helping you because he wants to. He’s just trying to prove he’s the best of the Wandering People, and teaching you will serve that goal.”
“That’s not true,” Wanily insisted. “He told me so. He said he’s helping me ‘cause he can, and that I should do the same thing. He’s teaching me how to survive in the world so I can go out and learn magic.”
“I’ve known Andurak a very long time, Wanily,” Mom said, a slight edge of irritation running under her tone. “Longer than you’ve been alive. When I say that he’s only trying to serve himself, I am telling you the truth.”
“So what? You’re telling me you attacked him because of that?”
“No,” Mom responded. “I was forced to subdue him because he was under the impression that you were in danger with me.”
A beat of silence, and then Wanily slowly asked, “Am I?”
“Of course not.” There was a single footstep, and Plin imagined Mom moving closer to Wanily. “If you do what I say, neither of you will be in any danger at all.”
Plin drew back and shared a panicked look with Freya. She stared back at him with wide eyes. He opened his mouth to say they should go back to their tent before Mom found them eavesdropping, but Freya held a finger to her lips and pressed her ear back near the tent wall.
“What do you want?” Wanily hissed.
Plin was honestly a little in awe. He’d been on Mom’s bad side more than once, and she was more than a little scary when she wanted to be. Wanily didn’t sound scared at all.
“I’ve heard you’re a new specialty mage. One that can see magic. I wasn’t lying to you when I said I just want to help people. Wanily, do you realize what your specialty means? You can find magical plants and creatures easily, and we can turn them into potions.”
“But... what about the magical creatures? Won’t you have to..?”
“It is regrettable,” Mom said. Plin felt a little sick to his stomach hearing it again, but it wasn’t the first time for him or Freya. Mom had asked him what he thought about turning his spear from regular animals to magical creatures and Plin–
Mom thought it was a good idea. She said it could make them rich, and it could help lots of people. And Plin hadn’t wanted to disappoint her, so he had nodded along to her words. It still sat in the pit of his stomach, the thought of hurting a pixie or a kelpie or–or any magical creature. He’d been taught for so many years that they were supposed to protect them, make offerings to them, worship them–by the same person that was now telling him that they needed to kill them.
But... Mom knew best. If she changed her mind like this, she had to have a good reason. Just like with Wanily. Maybe she was being a little harsh with her and Andurak, but Mom just wanted to help people.
“So... you just want me to find you these plants and animals?” Wanily asked. “That doesn’t seem so bad.”
“Andurak is very traditional in his beliefs, so he didn’t exactly agree. But I swear he will see no harm if you help my cause.”
“For how long?”
Mom sighed. “The next Gathering is in just a few months. If you can help my cause enough until then, then that will be good enough.”
Plin nodded to himself. That sounded fair to him. And besides–if Wanily was with a big family unit like his, they could teach her how to properly hunt and gather. They could share their food with her so she never went hungry, and he and Freya could teach her all the best games to play when on the road or making camp. She could be happy with them. It didn’t matter that all this was coming about as a threat to Andurak. If what Mom said was true, Andurak–Andurak must deserve it.
“I can’t do that,” Wanily retorted. “I’m trying to learn magic. What if you decide I didn’t help you enough? Will I just be stuck with you for gods know how long?”
Mom sighed. “I am not asking you, Wanily. I’m telling you what will happen. You will help me until the next Gathering.”
“Or what?”
Mom didn’t hesitate. “Or Andurak will suddenly find me much less agreeable than he already does. As will you.”
There was silence. Plin made less and less subtle gestures toward Freya to leave and go back to their tent, until eventually Freya swatted her hand through the air at him like she was trying to shoo away a fly. Plin let out a silent huff. He wasn’t a baby anymore–he didn’t need Freya to come with him to go back to the tent. Sticking his tongue out at her, he turned slowly around himself and snuck away.
As he rounded the main tent, he peeked out around the corner, watching what was going on by the fire. Andurak must have been awake because his form was squirming and making soft grunts, all while Grandma and Grandpa watched. They might have been speaking to him, but Plin couldn’t tell if the soft murmurs he heard were them or the light breeze picking up.
Still, no one was looking in his direction. Plin scurried over to his and Freya’s tent, pulling back the tent flap and slipping inside. As he went to put the flap back in its place, he swept his gaze over the area one last time. It was the same as before, with no one watching–no one except Andurak, whose eyes blazed with flickers of the fire outlining his silhouette. Plin quickly averted his eyes and put the tent flap back in its place.
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Plin woke up the next morning to shouting. Freya continued to slumber beside him with hardly as much as a twitch of her cheek–she must have returned after he fell asleep but before the adults were able to catch her. Or maybe the adults did catch her. Plin peeked at her, trying to make sure she hadn’t been hurt, but he saw no welts or beginnings of bruises. None of the adults had ever raised a hand against either of them, but. He still wanted to make sure.
He wasn’t sure what he would even do if Freya had been hurt. As long as she didn’t say anything about it, he probably wouldn’t have mentioned it either. They had been doing something bad–Mom had told them to go to sleep and they had eavesdropped on her instead. If they had been caught, Mom would have had to punish them somehow.
Before, whenever they did something really bad–which was always Freya’s fault, Uncle Reed said she was given ears as sharp griffin but had the listening ability of a brucha–they were given more chores or told they had to go to bed without dinner or had to sit with Grandma and listen to her stories for hours instead of playing. No one had ever hit them though.
Plin thought of Uncle Reed pulling on Wanily’s hair until tears had popped into the corners of her eyes. The way those tears had reflected the firelight like blood. No one had hit them in the past. Maybe–Maybe things were changing. Mom kept saying that–the world was changing, becoming harsher, and they needed to change with it. Maybe the adults needed to be harsher with the children so they could make adults capable of surviving a harsh world. Plin would have to watch his step more carefully from now on. He didn’t want Mom or Dad to have to hit him. He could become strong without it.
Harsh cursing outside, the kind the adults never said around him or Freya, broke Plin from his thoughts. He spared one last glance at Freya before crawling over to the tent entrance and pushing the flap open a sliver to peek out at the rest of the camp.
Andurak sat upright, hands and feet still bound with some rope, but it looked like they had removed his gag. Next to him, Grandpa held the rag they’d used to gag him in one hand, and used the other to grip his arm. Had–Had Andurak bit him?
Plin squinted against the morning light and peered around, but he didn’t see Wanily anywhere. Maybe she was still in the main tent, then? He wondered if she had agreed to Mom’s deal. Though, it hadn’t sounded like she had much choice in the matter.
Plin shivered. Andurak was like another uncle to him. A moody, gruff uncle that hated parties and playing and hanging around other people, but he’d always been kind enough to Plin. Plin didn’t want his mom or dad to hurt him. But, well, Andurak was standing in the way of doing good in the world. That made him like a villain, right? The members of his family unit were the heroes, and they had to stop Andurak from stopping them.
It made sense. In a roundabout way.
“What’re you doing down there, Plin?” Uncle Yonid called. He was stepping out of the main tent, the flap falling back into place behind him–but not before Plin saw Wanily sitting cross-legged on the floor, hands bound behind her back and a scowl set firmly on her face.
Plin snapped his gaze back to Uncle Yonid before he could call him out for staring at their new guest. “Nothing.”
Uncle Yonid chuckled. He held himself loose, and even when he stopped laughing, there was a slight smile on his face. He was acting like nothing was wrong, so–so Plin should stop acting like such a baby. Nothing was wrong. He might have been the youngest in the family unit, but they were united in what they were doing. He had to stand with them.
“Well, do nothing over here. Breakfast will be up soon,” Uncle Yonid said, heading over toward the fire. Plin could see the exact moment he met Andurak’s glower, Uncle Yonid’s jaw tightening for just a breath, and then he was turning away. Leaving Andurak to turn his glare on Plin.
Plin gulped and pulled himself out of his tent, trying his best to ignore Andurak without making it seem like he was ignoring Andurak. As he straightened his coat and donned his gloves, he wasn’t sure how successful he was.
Plin wandered over next to Uncle Yonid who was chatting with Uncle Reed by the fire. There was a pot suspended above the licking flames, and something that smelled good, if watered-down and mild, cooking in it. Plin took a deep breath, letting the familiar scent of a hearty morning meal calm his spinning mind. It wasn’t until after he stepped back that he noticed Uncle Yonid and Uncle Reed had fallen silent and were watching him with blank faces.
Plin couldn’t help but shuffle his feet. Just a little. “What?”
They shared a look, his two uncles, but didn’t say anything to each other. Eventually, Uncle Yonid sighed. “I’m sure you’ve noticed some... tensions in the camp since last night.”
Plin bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from saying something foolish and simply nodded.
Uncle Yonid knelt down, bringing him almost level with Plin. “I know this must all seem a little scary. So, before your mom talks to you, I just wanted to say that everything is going to be okay, alright? You and Freya–all of us will keep you safe.”
Plin swallowed hard. “Okay.”
Uncle Yonid stood and ruffled Plin’s hair. Plin would usually laugh and try to duck away from it, but he just let it happen to him this time. It was something familiar, and he desperately wanted something familiar right then.
“Chin up, Plin,” Uncle Reed said. When Plin looked up at him through the fringes of his bangs, he stared at him with unforgiving eyes. “Be brave, and be obedient. That’s all that we ask from you and Freya right now.”
Plin nodded. It felt like something was crawling along his arms and legs, and he hugged himself to try making the feeling go away. Not that it helped.
“Plin, dear, are you awake?” Mom’s voice penetrated the flap of furs separating where she was in the main tent and where Plin stood by the fire. When Plin didn’t immediately respond, Uncle Yonid nudged him.
“I’m awake!” Plin called back. He found his gaze straying toward Andurak again. Andurak stared at the ground, jaw clenched. Plin bit the inside of his cheek and began moving toward the tent before Mom even shouted for him to do so.
He pulled the tent flap back the barest margin and poked his head inside. Mom was standing with her back to the opposite wall and smiled when she caught sight of Plin. “Come here, dear. I need to speak with you.”
Plin took a deep breath. Brave and obedient, Uncle Reed had said. Plin could do that. He let the breath go and stepped inside the tent. He tried to look over as subtly as possible, and his gaze met Wanily’s hateful one. He noticed the area around her left eye was slightly dark and red, and his eyes quickly skittered back to Mom’s open, smiling face.
“I’m sure you heard at least a little of what happened last night,” Mom started gently. Plin bit his cheek and nodded. “Not to mention how I spoke to you. I’m sorry I was a little short with you, Plin, but Mommy had to take care of the family unit. It’s not an excuse, but I was preoccupied and wasn’t thinking how that would affect you. Please forgive me.”
Wanily snorted, and Mom’s expectant face instantly darkened. “Dragonshit. No, no, hydrashit. You–”
“You will speak when spoken to, young lady,” Mom warned, and Plin’s gaze fell to his feet, unwilling to look at either his mother or Wanily.
Wanily’s voice was downright scalding. “Or what?”
“You know very well what the ‘or what’ is.” Mom sighed. “Plin? This is what I really wanted to talk to you about.” Plin cautiously raised his head a fraction to meet Mom’s gaze. It was cold, as cold as the winter air of Oavale around them. “Wanily and Andurak will be staying with us for a while. They won’t be leaving, and they may very well be unable to contribute to hunting or gathering.”
“Very nice way to say we’re your prisoners,” Wanily muttered.
Mom sent a cutting glare her way, but Wanily merely stuck her tongue out at her. Mom’s nostrils flared, but she turned back to Plin. “I need you–and Freya–to listen especially well to whatever I or the rest of the family says during this period, okay?” Plin hesitated for the barest moment, and Mom took the opportunity to kneel in front of him, bringing her hands up to hold his cheeks. “It’s very important, Plin. We’re trying to do something that will help a lot of people.”
“By kidnapping me. And Andurak,” Wanily said.
“By having you use your power to help someone other than yourself,” Mom snapped. Though she turned her head to face Wanily, she didn’t remove her hands from Plin’s cheeks, her grip even tightening to the verge of painful.
“That’s not–”
“I will,” Plin cut in. He didn’t want Wanily to keep going and get herself another black eye. Even if–Even if she deserved it. “I’ll listen, and I’ll be brave.”
Mom smiled, something that lit up her whole face and eyes. “That’s my good boy,” she crooned, rubbing a thumb along his cheek. She stood and motioned toward the entrance to the tent. “Go get yourself some breakfast, then. And send Freya in here when she wakes, alright?”
Plin nodded, not trusting his voice at the moment, and chewed on the inside of his cheek as he stepped out of the tent and went back over to where Uncle Yonid and Uncle Reed were ladelling the morning’s porridge into bowls. Someone had wrapped Grandpa’s arm, and Plin tensed when he saw a little red blotting the white bandages. Andurak had gotten him good.
“Come eat, Plin,” Uncle Yonid said, smiling as he scooped up another spoonful of porridge and dumped it into a little clay bowl. “Before it gets cold.”
Plin wordlessly obeyed, cradling the bowl and letting its warmth seep through his gloves. He idly wondered if Andurak would be given any food, and then he glanced at Grandpa’s arm again and thought probably not.
He meandered away, grabbing a spoon and then sitting on the other side of the fire from Andurak with his back turned so he didn’t have to look at the man. His family was doing the right thing. They had to be. But that didn’t mean that Plin wanted to sit and see Andurak glowering at all of them.
Plin ate his breakfast silently, trying hard not to think about much of anything. Not how much fun he had with Wanily and how happy she seemed to play with other kids yesterday, not how Andurak had gotten him a present every year for his birthday without fail even if he had to give it months in advance, not how Wanily had a black eye or Andurak was knocked out last night by Plin’s own mother.
The adults knew more than him. All Plin had to do was be brave and obedient.
He didn’t notice Freya had gotten up until she sat beside him with her own bowl of porridge. She didn’t say anything in way of greeting, just knocked her shoulder against Plin’s and silently dug into her still steaming breakfast.
Plin gripped his bowl a little tighter. “My mom wanted to talk to you.”
“Well, she can wait until I’ve eaten,” Freya sniped.
Plin swallowed, hard. “Are you angry?”
Freya dropped her spoon, the utensil clattering against the edge of her bowl. “Why would I be angry?”
Plin shrugged, averting his gaze. He dug his spoon into his porridge, moving it back and forth and making deep troughs into the swollen grains.
Freya huffed but didn’t say anything else. Plin finished his breakfast but didn’t know what he should do. Freya didn’t seem in the mood to play, and she had to go talk to Mom anyway. He didn’t want to stray toward the other side of the fire because that was where Andurak was, and Plin wasn’t afraid of Andurak–even though maybe he should be, he’d bit Grandpa hard enough to make him bleed–but looking at him made Plin feel bad and a little sick and he didn’t want to lose the breakfast he’d just eaten. He could go grab some toys or maybe do some chores, but he’d need to go to the main tent for that, and that was where Wanily sat with a slowly darkening mark around her eye. So he just kept sitting next to Freya, who refused to look at him, but it was better than any of the other options.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
When Freya eventually finished her breakfast, she held out her hand and Plin wordlessly gave his bowl and spoon to her. She stood and put them and hers into the growing pile of dishes meant for washing. Grandma already had a small bucket of water and was cleaning the first of them with a rag. That done, Freya strode to the main tent, head held high, and went inside. Without anything else to do, Plin wandered over to Grandma, thinking he could at least help her with the morning’s dishes.
Grandma smiled at him when he sat next to her and started handing her dishes as she finished others. “We won’t be leaving just yet,” she told him. Usually, after breakfast was eaten, they would pack everything up and start traveling again. “There will be a hunt first.”
Plin wasn’t supposed to know. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from blurting out, “A magical creature hunt?”
Grandma stilled. Her weathered face crinkled with some unknown emotion, and she did not look at him when she answered, “Yes.”
“Grandma,” he started. Then stopped. He stared at the bowl in his hands lined with the dredges of the morning meal. “Are we doing the right thing?”
Grandma took a deep breath. It was the only hesitation she offered before she answered, “Yes.”
She went back to doing the dishes, and Plin–Plin didn’t say anything else, either. They finished their work in silence, and when Grandma got up to pack the clean dishes away, Plin stayed put, thinking despite his effort not to.
It all came down to one thing–Grandma said they were doing the right thing. Everyone was acting like everything was perfectly normal. No one said anything to or about Andurak, or about the evidence of violence on Wanily’s face, or about how they were about to commit a taboo amongst taboos. They all believed it was the right thing to do. So–So Plin had to believe that way, too. What other choice did he have?
Plin watched the main tent, waiting for Freya to come out. She was angry about what was happening, but Plin couldn’t really figure out why. All she had to do–like him–was be brave and obedient. The adults weren’t asking very much of them. And in the meantime, they could play or do chores or–or something. Something that wasn’t just sitting around, thinking.
Freya did eventually emerge from the tent, and Plin blanched at the sight. Her face was streaked with tears, and her brow furrowed in a deep frustration. She glanced around the camp, meeting his gaze for only a breath, before she marched back over to their tent and ducked inside.
He guessed she still wasn’t in a playing mood.
Mom came out a handful of seconds later, pushing a stumbling Wanily ahead of her. “Is everyone ready?” Mom called.
“Aye, Minora,” Uncle Reed called back. “Just need our weapons and a direction.”
They were heading out on the hunt. They were going to kill a magical creature, and they were bringing Wanily with them. Wanily, who was bound at the hands, and scrawny, and who couldn’t run very fast or long yesterday without tiring. They were bringing a girl not much older than Plin on a hunt for a creature that would be much more dangerous than a deer or a moose or even a bear.
“Can I go?” Plin asked before his thoughts even caught up with his mouth.
All eyes turned to him, even Wanily’s and Andurak’s. Mom’s eyes didn’t match the way she smiled at him. “Oh, Plin, you know you’re not old enough for hunts like this.”
“I’ve gone on hunts before,” he argued, even though he wasn’t really sure why. “You’ll need as much help as you can get.”
Mom hesitated. Eventually, she shook her head. “You’ll stay here with Freya. Mom, Dad, hold down things here. If all goes well, we’ll be back in time for a good lunch and then we can keep moving from there. Everyone agree?”
There was a muttering of assent from the other adults in the group. Plin said nothing. It didn’t really matter what Plin thought or said after all–all he had to do was obey. If the others were going to hunt and Plin wasn’t allowed to go, then–then he would stay here. It was the right thing to do.
It had to be the right thing to do.
“Wanily.” Mom said, though she turned her critical gaze onto Andurak, who met her eyes with a glare. “Do I need to bring Andurak with us?”
“No,” Wanily said. She moved her arms, to try crossing them maybe, but must have forgotten her hands were bound. She aborted the movement halfway with a huff. “I’ll be good. Just leave him alone.”
“Wanily,” Andurak called, the first thing Plin had heard him say since last night. His voice sounded rough, Plin thought. “I’m sorry.”
Wanily didn’t say anything. Neither did anybody else. It was like they were all frozen, just looking at each other with expressions Plin couldn’t read.
“Well,” Mom finally said, giving Wanily a light push forward and causing her to take a stumbling step. “Let’s go, then.”
The other adults filtered into the main tent and came back out just as readily, their weapons of choice gripped in their hands or strapped to their bodies. Mom waited with Wanily just a few paces off to the side, both of their faces terribly blank. For someone like Mom who always smiled, and someone like Wanily who wore her heart on her sleeve, it made Plin a little sick to look at. So he decided not to look at it and instead moved back to his tent and peeked inside.
Freya laid on her side, one arm pillowing her head, almost like she was asleep. Her eyes were open though, and when Plin opened his mouth to speak, she beat him to it. “They’re leaving?”
Plin bit the inside of his cheek and nodded.
Freya didn’t look at him. “You wanted to go with them?”
She must have heard what was being said. It wasn’t like the tents were that thick, even made of warm furs as they were. Plin glanced back over his shoulder. It took his eyes a moment to adjust back to the brighter morning light outside the tent, but when they did, it was to see the backs of the adults–except Grandma and Grandpa who sat by the fire–moving to the north, toward the country of Iten.
Plin twisted around to look at Freya again. “I dunno. I guess.”
Freya finally looked at him, eyes rimmed with red. She sat up halfway. “Why?”
She sounded suspicious. Plin didn’t know why or how to answer her. “I dunno.”
“Yes, you do.”
Yes, he did. Plin didn’t want to think about it, but Freya was looking at him, gaze hardening with each breath he remained silent, and suddenly he found himself talking without any thought at all. “I–I don’t know. Wanily is–she’s the same age as us, kind of, and–and someone hit her, and hit Andurak, and now my mom and dad and your mom and dad are off to kill a frost lion or a phoenix or whatever they can get their hands on and–”
And it felt wrong. They said it was the right thing to do, but it was wrong.
But Plin had to obey. How else would the adults in their family unit keep him safe?
“Everything alright, Plin? Freya?” That was Grandpa, calling out from behind him. It didn’t sound like he had moved from his place by the fire, but that would change if Plin didn’t answer him soon. And Plin wasn’t sure how to answer him, either, because it didn’t feel like everything was alright. But Plin couldn’t tell him that, but he didn’t want to lie, and–
Freya climbed forward, pushing Plin lightly to the side so she had enough room to poke her head out of the tent. “Everything is okay, Grandpa. I’m just cold and want to stay inside until it warms up.”
“Oh,” he said. “Alright. Plin, you should probably do the same. At least until it warms up some.”
Plin nodded. All he had to do right now was obey, so when Freya ducked back inside, he followed. She sat, and instead of earlier when she refused to look at him, she stared down at him until he couldn’t take it anymore and looked away. “What?” he muttered.
“What do you want to do, Plin?” she asked.
He didn’t know how to respond to that. It didn’t matter what he wanted–that was what he should say. But he knew Freya–headstrong and willful Freya–wouldn’t like that answer. So he didn’t do anything. For a while, they just sat in silence, their breathing the only sound between the folds of the tent.
Sweat began to bead on the back of Plin’s neck. The more time that passed, the higher the sun rose in the sky, and between that and the coat swaddling him and the fire still crackling not too far from them and Freya’s body heat next to him, Plin was beginning to feel stifled. But Grandpa told him to stay inside, and he was a little afraid to say anything to Freya. So. He just continued to sit there.
Finally, Freya let out a huff. She climbed past him and poked her head out of the tent again. Plin peeked past the side of her head, but Grandma and Grandpa were still just sitting by the fire. Plin didn’t think they had even been talking to each other. Andurak hadn’t moved either, his head hanging low and his knees drawn up against his chest.
Freya called out, “What are we going to do with Mr. Lonesome?”
Grandpa and Grandma shared a look, and Andurak’s head whipped up, seemingly shocked to have someone finally acknowledge him at all.
“Why do we have to do anything with him?” Grandma asked.
Freya shrugged. “Well, can me and Plin go play now?” she asked instead of answering Grandma’s question.
The adults watched them with strange looks on their faces, the kind that told Plin they thought Freya was acting weird. He couldn’t tell if they thought it was suspicious weird, or just kid being a kid weird.
But why would it be suspicious anyway? Plin wasn’t planning anything, and he was just relieved that Freya was finally letting the matter drop. He didn’t want to think about their situation when it didn’t feel like he could do anything about it.
Grandma and Grandpa looked at each other again, several expressions flitting over their faces too quick for Plin to read. Finally, Grandpa shrugged. “Sure. Just don’t go too far, alright?”
Freya pulled herself the rest of the way out of their tent, standing before reaching inside and grabbing Plin’s arm to pull him to his feet. Her grip hurt, but Plin couldn’t find it in himself to say anything about it. Without another word, and with her hand still fastened around Plin’s arm, she marched away, pulling Plin along behind her. They passed the fire–with all the adults there looking more than a little confused at their antics–and when they were probably about three dozen yards away–far from the fire but not out of sight–Freya stopped. She laid both her hands on Plin’s shoulders. Plin didn’t like the way she looked at him.
“We’re going to run now, okay?” she asked.
Plin blanched. “What?”
“We’re going to go help Wanily,” Freya said firmly. “We’re going to get her away from everyone and bring her back to Mr. Lonesome. Then they can both escape.”
Plin swallowed hard. He could pull away from Freya’s grip. He could run back to the fire and tell Grandpa and Grandma what she was trying to do or he could wrestle her to the ground right now and call for them. She was only a couple years older than him–a bit taller, but Plin would win if it came down to blows.
Plin didn’t do any of that. Instead, he asked, “What do we do?”
Freya took a deep breath. “We follow their tracks,” she said. “I heard them last night. They’re trying to hunt down a nearby pride of frost lions, and they’re going to make Wanily find them. They won’t bring Wanily on the hunt itself, so there will probably be one or two of the adults with her, but they can’t risk keeping too many eyes on her ‘cause they’ll need all the hands they can get on this hunt. So, we find a way to distract them and get Wanily out of there. We bring her back here with Mr. Lonesome and get Grandma and Grandpa to let them go.”
“How do we do that?”
Freya hesitated. “I... haven’t gotten that far. But Plin, we have to try.”
Plin bit the inside of his cheek. He–He wasn’t being obedient. But, maybe, he could still be brave. Because doing the right thing was more important than doing what his Mom said–even if she thought she was doing something good.
He nodded. Freya nodded back. Her gaze flicked up, over the top of his head, and darted back just as quickly. “Run!”
She turned sharply on her heel and made a break for it, following the tracks left in the snow from the rest of the family unit and Wanily. Her brown hair followed after her in a trail, like a flag waving in a breeze, and her coat flared out just the slightest bit behind her. Plin wasn’t more than two paces behind her, legs pumping and snow trailing each of his steps. Each of his breaths billowed out in front of him in a cloud that he raced straight through, running for all he was worth.
“Where are you going?” Grandma called, her voice already shrill and distant as it cut through the quiet of the snowy plains. “Kids!”
Plin looked back, just once, to see them shooting to their feet. Grandma and Grandpa, while not old enough to stay in Windor and stop wandering, still weren’t young anymore. They always complained about their stiff joints and couldn’t play very long with Plin and Freya. They could try, but they would never catch up to Plin and Freya if they didn’t want to be caught.
“Get back here!” That was Grandpa, scrambling after them. Plin whipped his head forward and pushed his legs to move faster until he was side by side with Freya, their feet flying over the snow-trodden earth.
Freya was the better tracker of the two of them, but it didn't take much skill at all to follow a churned up trail of snow cutting across the ground. Plin panted as he ran, keeping pace with Freya as they closed the distance between them and the rest of the family unit. Part of the reason Plin and Freya hadn’t been allowed to stray far from the camp was because of the nearby pride of frost lions–the Wandering People knew of their presence in this area and had known about it for a long time. Usually, during the summer when hunting was worse for them, offerings were made to the frost lions to help keep them alive. Most Wandering People–if not all– knew that these frost lions roamed somewhere near the border of Oavale and Iten.
But a frost lion that didn’t want to be found, especially by someone without magic to track it, simply wouldn’t be. They were beings of ice and snow and so left no tracks through snowy terrain. Not to mention that their white coats and frosty manes always blended in perfectly with their surroundings.
The snow grew deeper the farther they went from the road, building up past Plin’s ankles. At least they weren’t in the heart of Iten, where it would probably be past the middle of his calves by this point. Plin moved toward the path left by his family unit, where the snow had already been compacted a little, putting him a few paces behind Freya.
He looked over his shoulder again. Grandpa was no longer chasing after them.
No, instead, Andurak was behind them. And quickly gaining on them, a thunderous expression on his face.
Why was he free? Why was he running after them? Where was Grandma and Grandpa? Did Andurak do something to them or did they let him free for some reason?
It didn’t matter. Considering the look on his face, Plin didn’t want to risk Andurak catching them. He–He had bit Grandpa, and Plin and Freya hadn’t hurt him but they hadn’t tried to help him. They were planning on it, but they hadn’t done anything yet.
Plin blanched, whipping his head around. “Freya!”
She glanced back at him, eyes widening when she saw Andurak pursuing them. “Faster, Plin!”
Plin was already going as fast as he could, but he didn’t bother telling Freya that. He didn’t even know what the plan was other than to get to Wanily. What would they do to get her away from whoever was guarding her? What would they do once she was free? The bare bones of the plan they had was already all messed up–Andurak was already free now. What were they going to do?
He could hear Andurak gaining on them, heavy footfalls rapidly approaching them from behind. Plin’s heart hammered in his chest, feeling like it was trying to beat its way out.
“Plin!” Andurak called from behind them. Plin could hear him suck in a strained breath. “Freya! Wait!”
Freya didn’t look back. She just kept running, arms and legs pumping ahead of Plin. Plin tried to keep up with her, he really did, but he was getting tired and Freya was moving so fast and–
A hand caught his arm, yanking him to a stop. Plin cried out–more from surprise than pain–and immediately began clawing at Andurak’s grip. Andurak huffed and puffed above him, his other hand coming up–and Plin froze, convinced he was going to grab his hair just like Uncle Reed had done to Wanily–but Andurak just caught Plin’s other arm, stopping him from struggling.
“Plin–” he started, but was cut off by a cry from Freya.
“Leave him alone!” Freya shouted, racing back toward them. Plin squirmed in Andurak’s grasp, but Freya got there before he could even try to escape. She started hitting Andurak’s arms, hammering her fists against his flesh. “Let him go!”
Andurak released him, and Plin scrambled back, kicking up snow behind him with each retreating step. Andurak held up his hands in the universal sign of peace. “Just wait,” he said. He didn’t take another step toward them, which is the only reason Plin didn’t bolt.
Freya held out a hand in front of Plin, urging him to stay back. She didn’t need to worry–Plin had no desire to get any closer to Andurak. “What did you do?” Freya hissed. “Where are our grandparents?”
Andurak hesitated. “They’ll be okay,” he said.
Freya let out a noise of frustration. “I’m sick of you adults toeing around everything!” Freya reached into her boot, yanking out the knife tucked inside and brandishing it at Andurak. “Tell me what you did.”
“I knocked out your grandmother and grandfather and tied them up.”
“And how did you do that?” Freya demanded.
Andurak rotated his wrists, splaying his hands downward. Plin hadn’t noticed it before but the skin was red in big, angry splotches, and there even looked to be a couple of blisters forming. Not around his wrists were he was bound, but spaced further apart, on either side of where his skin had been rubbed raw by rope. It–It looked like a burn. A bad one.
“They put me by the fire,” Andurak said. “When my bindings were flammable. When you took off, it was enough of a distraction to get the upperhand on your grandparents.” Andruak let his arms fall to his side. Freya kept her arm outstretched, the point of her knife level with his chest. “Why did you kids run?”
Freya snuck a look at Plin. He wasn’t sure why–she was the leader between the two of them. Eventually, she admitted, “We were going to help Wanily.”
“And now?”
Freya set her jaw and slowly lowered her weapon. “Now you can help us help Wanily, and the two of you can escape.”
Plin shuffled a step closer to Freya and tugged on her coat. “What about his stuff?” he hissed in her ear.
Freya frowned. “We’re not that far from a town,” she said, eyes flitting between Andurak and Plin. “If Mr. Lonesome and Wanily can just beat our family unit there, they should be fine.” She threw her shoulders back before she addressed Andurak again. “Right?”
Andurak nodded. Plin couldn’t help but notice how his hands shook, just a little, burned and without even gloves to protect them from the biting winter air. Nonetheless, he said, “We’ll make it work.”
Plin doubted that, but Freya nodded and tucked her knife back into its sheath in her boot. “Then let’s go,” she said. She pointed at him–with just her finger this time. “But you lead.”
Andurak didn’t respond except to do just as Freya said and start following the trail once again at a light jog. Before Freya could begin to run after him, Plin caught the sleeve of her coat. “Is this a good idea?”
Freya huffed. “What do you mean?”
“Andurak is–I mean, he’ll hurt someone, won’t he?”
Freya was quiet for a moment. “We hurt them first,” she said finally. “Mr. Lonesome is a good man. He won’t hurt anyone too badly.”
“But–”
“Do you want Wanily to stay with us? Get hurt again?” Freya demanded. She yanked her sleeve back with a scowl. “If you’re going to be a baby about this, go wait back at camp. Make sure nothing happens to Grandma and Grandpa.”
With that, she turned and raced after Andurak, leaving Plin standing there amidst the snowy plains of Oavale. Plin glanced behind him. He could see the smoke from the campfire, could imagine Grandma and Grandpa lying on the ground or slowly rousing after Andurak attacked them. He–He could go back. Stay safe at camp with them. Leave Freya and Andurak to help Wanily and then Mom couldn’t be mad at him for helping them because he hadn’t done anything yet.
He looked ahead of him, at Andurak’s and Freya’s backs growing smaller in the distance. He didn’t have to go with them. He didn’t have to be disobedient.
Plin took a deep breath, steeling himself. He wasn’t going to be a baby about this. He was going to help instead of just waiting for everything to fix itself. Nothing would ever change if he did that.
He took one halting step forward, then another, until he was running after them. “I’m coming, too!” he called.
He could make out Freya look over her shoulder at him, a smile flickering over her face, before her expression hardened and she turned forward again. Plin grinned to himself and pushed his legs faster until he was just a few yards back from them.
It was around then that he started to hear something in the distance. It took him several seconds to realize it wasn’t the howling of the wind–which didn’t even make any sense, there was barely even a breeze.
It sounded like screaming.
Plin inhaled sharply. He almost didn’t notice that Andurak and Freya had stopped ahead of him and just barely avoided barreling straight into Freya’s back. He tried to step around her to see why they had stopped, but she quickly turned and cupped her hand behind Plin’s head, pulling so that he was tucked against the side of her body.
“D–Don’t look, Plin,” she said. “Don’t look.”
“Go back to camp,” Andurak said from somewhere ahead of them. “Both of you. Now.”
Plin pushed against Freya, and though her grip didn’t relent, he was able to squirm just enough to peek one eye out. He froze when he realized what had stopped Freya and Andurak.
There was blood. Large puddles seeped into the snow and turning it into a red slush in spreading splotches. Atop the biggest of the puddles, bits of entrails and scraps of flesh had been thrown about. They steamed slightly in the frigid air, the ragged edges of skin and organs smeared across the ground.
Plin swept his gaze around as much of the area as he could. There–there wasn’t even enough left in any one piece of carnage to know who it came from.
There were still tracks veering off to the right. They didn’t look any different from the ones they had been following all this time. What had gone wrong? And where was everyone?
Maybe in a frost lion’s stomach, Plin thought and immediately squeezed his eye shut and pressed his face against Freya’s coat.
“What–What about Wanily? And everyone else?” Freya demanded. She had always been braver than Plin. Plin wanted to just do as Andurak said. “We have to help them.”
“And I will.” There was the crunch of snow, and Andurak’s voice sounded a little closer when he said, “But I’m not risking your lives. Get your cousin back to camp, Freya. Let an adult handle this. It’s too dangerous for you two.”
“What happened?” Plin found himself asking, voice muffled by Freya’s furs. “Why–Why are there still tracks?”
“Frost lions are smart,” Andurak said lowly. “Even if Wanily found your family the pride and they tried to hunt them down, one of them might have broken off and found Wanily and whoever was with her.”
Then–Then Wanily was probably already dead, right? And all the carnage around them was little bits of Wanily and Uncle Reed or Uncle Yonid or whoever had been given the task to make sure she didn’t escape. But there was still someone screaming in the distance. They were wasting time right now–someone was alive out there and in trouble.
It was a woman’s voice. It–It could be Mom screaming like that.
They were surrounded by nothing. Rolling plains as far as the eye could see. There would be nowhere to hide, no trees to climb or caves to hole up in. If the hunt had fallen apart–if the frost lions had attacked them and Plin’s family hadn’t been able to take them out quickly–
“Andurak?!” A voice shouted from somewhere behind them. A man’s voice.
Plin snapped his head away from the safety of Freya’s coat and toward the direction of the voice. It–It was Uncle Yonid. Running toward them from the crest of a hill behind them and to their right. Snow coated his furs and the top of head, chunks of it falling with each of his footfalls, and it took Plin a moment to realize the long thing he was carrying in one hand was half the shaft of a spear.
“Kids?!” Uncle Yonid bellowed. “Run!”
Instead of running away, Andurak and Freya–who tore herself away from Plin’s grasp with barely a remorseful glance–ran toward Uncle Yonid.
“What’s going on?” Andurak demanded.
Uncle Yonid cursed and shoved his broken spear into Freya’s hands. “Better than nothing,” he muttered. Then, he whirled on Andurak. “Two of the frost lions broke off from the pride and hunted us down. They got Niveno. We managed to bring them down, but the rest of them have whipped up a storm–” Uncle Yonid pointed back in the direction he just came from, and now that he was looking, Plin could see the top of a swirling mass of snow just above the hill– “and I lost the rest of my family inside. I have no idea what’s going on in there.”
“And Wanily?” Andurak asked. His voice was steady, but the look in his eyes was as cold as the snow beneath their feet.
Uncle Yonid hesitated. “She took a hit to her leg,” he said. “I don’t think she can walk.”
Andurak took a step forward. “You just left her?”
“I was a little preoccupied,” Uncle Yonid snapped. He took a step back. Plin wondered if he even realized he’d done so. “I’d be too slow if I were to carry her back to camp. I need to go get another weapon so I can come back and help them.”
Andurak didn’t bother to respond to that. Instead, he turned to Freya. “Go back to camp with Yonid,” he said. “But give me your knife.”
“You’re going to run into a frost lion’s storm with nothing but a knife?” Freya said, appalled.
“I won’t just sit here,” Andurak said calmly. “Your knife, please. We’re wasting time.”
Yonid had his back to it and Andurak and Freya were staring each other down, so Plin was the only one to notice movement at the crown of the hill. His heart shot into his throat, his first thought that another frost lion had broken away and was about to maul all of them just like they’d done to Niveno, his mother’s cousin. But he quickly realized that a frost lion would be completely white with the translucent blue of ice–there wouldn't be anything yellow on a frost lion. That meant it was–
Plin was moving before he even realized it, running up the hill toward where Wanily was crawling over its crest. He didn’t know what he was thinking. He probably wasn’t–if he had been, he would be running in the other direction. All Plin knew was that Wanily was hurt, tears streaking her cheeks and her face screwed up with pain, with red seeping into the snow surrounding her right leg with each pull as she dragged the limb across the ground.
Plin had averted his eyes and retreated before, even after Wanily asked for help. He wouldn’t do the same thing again.
What would he even do when he reached her? He wasn’t old enough to carry his own weapon–that was still a few months out, when he would turn ten–so he had nothing to defend them. Wanily couldn’t walk, and there was only a small chance Plin would be able to carry her long enough for it to matter.
“Plin!” Freya shrieked, just as Wanily caught sight of him and she shouted, “Run!”
That was what everyone kept telling him to do. Run, go back to camp, keep his head down, and be obedient. But he didn’t want that. Plin would be brave. It was more important than being obedient, and it meant more than staying safe. Wanily–Wanily could die, and Plin could help her. Mom was always saying they needed to do good in the world when things were harsh. Especially when things were harsh. Uncle Yonid had left Wanily behind to die. Plin wouldn’t do the same.
He was a member of the Wandering People. What did he have to fear from a magical creature?
He skidded to a stop at the top of the hill. Wanily was still bound with rope around her wrists, and her leg looked–it was bad. Her calf mangled to the point that Plin wasn’t sure if she’d been bit or clawed or both. All he knew was that he could see white underneath the red, could see texture between the blood, and Plin’s own leg hurt just looking at it.
Biting the inside of his cheek, Plin knelt down and gripped Wanily’s arm. “Come on,” he urged. “Get up, I’ll help you.”
Wanily made a noise–in pain or in frustration, Plin wasn’t sure–and looked back over her shoulder, down the other side of the hill. Plin looked, too, freezing at what he saw.
The storm raged just a dozen yards away from them, down in the little valley between hills, perfectly contained in a large gray and white dome. Plin could hear the wind rushing, could see the flurries of snow spin and tumble around and around, never straying even an inch outside the influence of the frost lions that had to be inside. Somewhere inside that, Mom and the rest of the adults in the family unit were fighting for their survival. But that wasn't what concerned Plin.
Before this, Plin had never seen a frost lion in real life. He’d heard plenty of stories, had seen pictures of them, had left out offerings to them, but this was the first time he’d seen them in the flesh. They were bigger than he thought–knowing that they were bigger than regular lions didn’t help when he had never seen a regular lion either. He almost couldn't make out the bodies of the ones that Uncle Yonid had killed. They were down in the valley alongside the storm, blood a glittering blue like ice and white coats blending in perfectly with the snow so much so that Plin probably wouldn’t have been able to see them if they weren’t splattered by blood. Their manes still undulated around their necks, clouds of ice and frost that wavered and, even as Plin watched, bled away in little wisps of steam.
The dead frost lions weren’t what concerned Plin either. It was the living one, stalking out of the storm, one massive paw in front of the other. Its mane spun and flared around its neck, like the frills of an agitated lizard, bits of ice and snow whipping in one massive circle. Its pale blue eyes, the color of the midday sky, glinted harshly as it stepped closer, away from the backdrop of gray and white of the storm that gave its body enough definition to see it. Soon enough, the only thing Plin could make out was those startling blue eyes steadily getting closer.
“Run, Plin!” Wanily insisted, yanking her arm from his grasp and dragging herself forward once more.
“Plin!” That was Freya and Uncle Yonid, both of them and Andurak running toward them. But even if they reached them in time, what would they be able to do?
It wasn’t until the eyes started bobbing up and down, getting closer much more quickly, that Plin was able to spur himself into action. Wanily hadn’t managed to get more than a foot away from him. Swallowing hard, he quietly told her, “Sorry.”
She whipped her head around, but it didn’t matter. Plin lunged at her, wrapping his arms the best he could around her middle and letting his momentum carry them forward, over and over, around and around, rolling down the hillside. Wanily let out a shriek of pain, her hands finding Plin’s shoulders and her fingers digging mercilessly enough that he could feel her nails even past his thick coat.
They came to a stop at the feet of the others. Wanily was shaking in Plin’s grasp, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks and choked sobs fighting their way from her throat. Disheveled snow and splatters of red marked their descent down the hill in a clear trail. Plin, breathing hard and aching dully across his body from the tumble, extracted himself as carefully as he could from the tangle of Wanily’s limbs and climbed to his feet.
His legs felt heavy. He glanced down, only for the briefest moment, just to confirm it was because Wanily’s blood covered his trousers.
Andurak was beside Wanily in an instant, kneeling down and helping her sit up. She panted hard, her face almost the same color as the snow around them, and her eyes glazed with pain. Andurak set about undoing the bindings around her wrists, and in just a few expert movements, the rope fell to the snowy ground like a dead snake.
“Hurts,” Wanily whimpered between breaths.
“You’ll be alright,” Andurak said in that gruff way of his. Like there wasn’t any other option. He adjusted his grip on her so that one arm braced her back with his hand in her armpit, his other hand hovering by her knees. “But this is going to hurt more. Ready?”
She took a deep breath and nodded. Andurak brought his other arm under her knees and lifted, bringing Wanily to his chest. She let out a hiss of breath between her teeth, burying her hands in the front of Andurak’s coat and squeezing her eyes shut. Andurak climbed unsteadily to his feet like that. Plin could see a fine tremble in his hands, and Plin wondered if they should have made Uncle Yonid–whose hands were not burned–carry the girl he had tried to leave behind.
Plin looked back to the top of the hill just in time to see the white body of the frost lion bound over the top, outlined by the blue sky and making the creature almost look like a cloud. And then the moment was gone, and all Plin could see once more were its eyes getting closer and closer.
Uncle Yonid cursed, putting himself between Plin and Freya and the frost lion. But what would that do in the end? They–They were all–
They were all about to–
Plin didn’t think. Freya stood beside him, and he didn’t hesitate to reach inside her boot and yank out the knife stowed inside. Freya cried out as Plin ran forward–past Uncle Yonid and Andurak and Wanily, toward the massive frost lion and its whipping mane. He wasn’t even old enough to have a knife of his own, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know how to use it.
The frost lion lunged, its presence and movement heralded only by its blue, blue eyes. Plin dropped, skidding across the half-frozen ground and bringing up the knife grasped in both of his hands.
The last thing he knew was blue.