Storm Runner-Wolfwalker 03-Harper, Tara K by Storm Runner

Author:Storm Runner [Runner, Storm]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Published: 2011-10-17T16:16:24+00:00

“Oh, gods.” The woman was instantly contrite. “I’m really sorry.

Moonworms, I don’t know why I did not think. Going through the falls Storm Runner-Wolfwalker 03-Harper, Tara K

yourself after days of scouting—you must be exhausted. Here—” She grabbed Dion’s arm and pulled her toward a quiet corner. “We have more than enough beds set up—we are sleeping in shifts anyway, what with the work behind the falls going on at night. Leave your pack there—no, don’t bother to bring out your blankets—the beds are much more comfortable.

Take my bed. No, I insist. You can sleep as long as you like here.” Dion smiled faintly. “Thanks. But, Cheya?” she added. “Don’t wake me until dinner.”

The other woman turned and hurried back to her charges, and Dion sank down on the soft bedding. She was too tired to strip. She would drag her own sleeping bag from her gear bag later. This bed was good enough for now.

Her damp clothes were warm with her body heat, but turned clammy when she stopped moving, so she got up to grab a dry shirt and pair of pants from the bag at the back wall that had her design on it. Wearily, she set her sword and other gear between the head of the mattress and the wall of the cave. It was another matter, however, to fight the knots in the wet leather laces of her jerkin, and she almost gave up, her fingers trembling with weariness over the task. By the time she leaned back on the sleeping bag, she was already half-asleep. She did not even cover her shoulders before she slept.

Dreams of gray threads. A spiderweb of bonds in her head… The song of the wolves was distant, but it pounded like a group of dancers, running, leaping, as they raced from meadow to log to rocky path. She twisted restlessly. In her ears, the distant snorting came softly as the wolves dug in the ground for rodents. In her nose, the sweet, thick scent of damp earth Storm Runner-Wolfwalker 03-Harper, Tara K

where their black claws tore out the burrows. On her lips, the sweet, hot taste of blood and meat still pulsing from the last bit of life… And then the taste changed. Bitter threads were caught in the blood. Red, now purple, the ichor seeped from the meat she had killed. And then the prey began to twitch and rise, and it was no rabbit, no rodent of the fields. Gods, it was a worlag. She tried to scream, searching her body for her knife and finding none to hand. “My knife—throw me my knife!” The worlag raked its claw across her face…

She tossed restlessly, her arm flung out of the covers, and her loose, fuzzy braid trailing across her shoulder. Her fist clenched, twitching. Aranur, looking down, knelt and touched her face, calming her from her dreams.

Still sleeping, she made an inarticulate sound, brushing at her cheek and catching his hand. He lay down then, easing into the sleeping bag beside her and pillowing his head on his arms until he, too, slept.

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